


Sweet Treats

by popatochisp



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gastertale (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Horrorfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Horrorswap (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Horrorswapfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Horrortale (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Swapfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Undergloom (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Cuddling & Snuggling, Drabble Collection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Gaster Papyrus (Undertale), Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Horrorfell Papyrus (Undertale), Horrorfell Sans (Undertale), Horrorswap Papyrus (Undertale), Horrorswap Sans (Undertale), Horrorswapfell Papyrus (Undertale), Horrorswapfell Sans (Undertale), Horrortale Papyrus (Undertale), Horrortale Sans (Undertale), Humor, M/M, Other, Pre-Relationship, Swapfell Papyrus (Undertale), Swapfell Sans (Undertale), Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Undergloom Papyrus (Undertale), Undergloom Sans (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Sans (Undertale)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 17,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26929804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popatochisp/pseuds/popatochisp
Summary: A disorganized series of drabbles for skeleton-lovers, almost definitely bound to be cavity-central.-Now updated with links to AU descriptions for uncommon AUs!
Relationships: Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Comments: 317
Kudos: 719





	1. Little Wins (HSF!Papyrus/Reader)

You wake alone.

Since you didn’t go to sleep that way, you get up and begin to investigate, wandering curiously from the empty bedroom, downstairs to the empty kitchen, and through the empty living room.

They’re _all_ empty and quiet, every single room…

But you _do_ find a breeze and an open door.

You figure that’s probably a solid clue.

The air is chilly as you poke your head out into the backyard, but sure enough, your missing skeleton is there. He looks up at you, his hollow, black eye-sockets settling on you for just a quick moment before turning away again, staring out at the dewy grass.

In any other circumstance, you might take that personally.

But not today—not when you can see how Papyrus’ back is pressed _flush_ against the side of the house; when you can see the little holes his claws are digging into his own sweatpants.

“Hey,” you say gently.

“………hey,” he returns at length, his voice tight.

Tense, but still talking.

That’s a good sign.

You’re not sure what he’s doing out here.

You’re not sure what he’s doing out here _alone,_ without _any_ support, but somehow, you don’t think it’s the right move to ask him _that._

So you try a different question.

“Do you wanna come back in?”

Papyrus shakes his head, hunching a little further into himself.

“no good,” he tells you. “if i……i can’t ‘til…i-it’s some kinda…negative reinforcement, o-or somethin’… gotta calm down before i…”

You consider this a moment.

“…Then… can I sit with you?”

Papyrus considers it.

And then, he shrugs.

………

You decide to take it as a ‘yes.’

The cold, smooth slate tiles of the patio chill your bare feet instantly as you step outside, but you pay them as little mind as possible.

You sink down onto the floor beside Papyrus and just…sit with him, staring out at the yard together in silence.

Waiting for him to be okay again.

By the time the misty morning starts to dawn in full, he’s leaning on you, _ever_ so slightly. The tension’s gone from his bones and his claws have settled over your fingers and…

It’s small.

But…it feels like a victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you're severely agoraphobic, even sitting outside in your own backyard without running back in can be a win.
> 
> [Horrorswapfell AU concept](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/post/630836607566643200/potential-tw-for-those-who-need-it-disability)


	2. Warm (HF!Sans/Reader)

Sans wakes to the feeling of something wiggling against his arm.

………

A dozen or so unfamiliar humans and a _damn_ big pile of kindling is a _hell_ of a thing to open your eye-sockets to, so he doesn’t begrudge himself the handful of seconds he sits stock-still before the context clues kick in.

The vibe here’s relaxed, everybody smiling and chatting and looking friendly. A little bit of music is playing, and a whole lot of refreshments are being passed around as a couple guys good-naturedly argue and futz around with their lighters, trying to get the stack of wood to catch.

Combined with the sand and snow under his feet, the chilly breeze blowing off the distant water, it’s not _too_ hard to sort out what’s going on here.

A winter…beach bonfire shindig… of _some_ sort, undoubtedly.

Nothing to _worry_ about.

Especially not now that he’s realizing there’s at least _one_ face here he knows after all—the very same one rubbing up against his humerus like a cat trying to mark territory.

That’s _your_ cute little face.

 _Whatever_ this is all for, he’s here with _you._

…but there's one thing he still can’t quite sort out.

Namely, what _you’re_ doing down there, so…

Sans gives you a nudge, getting you to look up at him.

_“you okay?”_

“Fine!” you answer, _way_ too quickly. “Just, uh…I’m fine!”

Which is an obvious a lie.

Sans may be _slow_ these days, but he ain’t stupid.

So he looks a little closer.

You’re stuck on him like glue, as close as you can get without actually being _in_ his lap…shaking a little, not like you’re _spooked,_ but like you can’t really _stop_ , and…

………

And you’re wearing an _awfully_ light jacket for a dark, snow-dusted beach like _this._

_“are you cold?”_

“No!” you squawk, immediately, and Sans _knows_ he’s hit the nail on the head.

It’s not like he actually remembers it, but he can only think of one reason you’d be acting so cagey about being a little chilly.

He follows his gut and _smirks_ at you, signing a _very_ smug, _“told you so…”_

The embarrassed little grumble you let out all but confirms that he had, and Sans can’t hold back the wheezing hisses of laughter that escape him.

“They’re lighting the _bonfire,”_ you mutter indignantly, “it’ll be warm enough soon…”

Probably what you’d said when you declined to bring a heavier coat in the first place.

…But even so, ‘not being a _total_ dick’ is something Sans prides himself on, especially when a cutie like you was involved.

Without further ado (or teasing), he pulls open his jacket and tugs you on into it, cuddling you right up against his ribs in one swift swoop of his arm.

You wriggle and protest a little, but Sans can’t imagine you hate it _very_ much.

Not when you just…stay there in his coat, even _after_ the smell of smoke in the icy air turns into the crackling warmth of an open fire.

And far be it from Sans to complain about _that._

He can think of _way_ worse ways to spend a party than with a real special someone like _you_ keeping cozy under his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~_"it's a beach, at night, in the winter,"_ Sans said.~~   
>  ~~"There's a big fire, it'll be fine," Reader said.~~   
>  ~~_"okaaay, but don't get mad when i say 'i told you so,'"_ Sans said.~~
> 
> [Horrorfell AU concept](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/post/190481512178/alright-this-one-definitely-goes-under-a-cut-xd)


	3. Everyday Marvels (US!Papyrus/Reader)

Papyrus is staring out the window.

His pen has practically fallen out of his lax fingers, the word-scramble on the table forgotten.

He must be looking at something _pretty_ damn remarkable.

You wander over to see for yourself.

“………Okay. What are we looking at?”

Papyrus startles visibly, like he hadn’t known you were there.

With how intently he’d been gazing out there a moment ago, you’d believe that one hundred percent.

“huh?” he says. And then, as he actually processes your question only a moment later, “oh… the, uh…the sprinklers… they went off.”

“…Oh.”

Somehow… _not_ the big, weird, interesting thing you’d expected to hear…

“…it actually _sparkles.”_

_………_

Now, it’s your turn to say, “Huh?”

“i mean,” Papyrus continues, scoffing a little and shaking his head, “i knew it did…or, i _read_ it did, at least, i just… i don’t know, i think i thought it was…artistic license, or something… but it…it _really_ looks like that.”

You look out the window again, this time with new eyes.

The lawn is still wet, dotted with hundreds of little water droplets that shimmer in the sun. The tiny beads on the lush green blades catch pinpricks of light at every angle, gleaming.

_Sparkling._

It’s…beautiful.

A little everyday marvel, right outside your window.

And you almost overlooked it.

You reach out, laying a hand on Papyrus’ shoulder.

“You’re right,” you agree, pressing a grateful, affectionate peck to the top of his skull. “It _does_ sparkle, doesn’t it…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever think about all the pretty and amazing things in the world that you don't even notice because it's normal to you? I bet monsters would think about them a lot...


	4. Grief (US!Sans/Reader)

You know immediately that something is wrong the moment you walk through the door.

Normally, you’re greeted with enthusiasm when you come over to your datemate’s house: the loving chime of your name and a big, warm hug, _maybe_ even a nuzzle depending on how affectionate Sans happened to be feeling…

But today, there’s nothing, and that’s how you know.

Something’s very wrong, indeed.

When you finally find him, Sans looks _terrible_.

He doesn't even _look_ at you, his skull in his hands and his whole body drooping like the weight of the _world_ was on his shoulders.

And sitting in front of him…

Oh…

Oh, _no._

“Oh…oh, baby, I’m so sorry…”

Sans still doesn’t look up; doesn’t even lift his head.

“THEY HATE ME.”

“What? No, they don’t, they—”

“THEY DO,” Sans insists, his tone distraught. “THEY _HATE_ ME, I’M _HORRIBLE…”_

“You are not!” you argue, fervent in that assertion.

“I AM, THAT’S WHY THEY HATE ME! THEY HATED ME SO MUCH THEY _DIED!”_

You look at the sad little pot of crunchy brown mint leaves before him—unfortunately _very_ dead—and frown.

“…I think you under-watered them,” you admit.

“THE LAST ONES WERE _OVER_ -WATERED,” Sans cries, aggrieved. “I CAN’T WIN! THEY _HATE_ ME…”

For his own sake, you wished Sans’ accursed black thumb wasn’t such a sore spot for him…

~~_Especially_ since it didn’t seem to be getting any better…~~

But since there’s nothing you can do about _that_ …

You just put your arms around his shoulders and help him mourn the loss.

“It’s okay, Sans, you’ll get it next time.”

“YOU THINK SO…?”

You doubt it.

But at least mint’s pretty cheap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans knows Reader's lying to him...but what _sweet,_ sweet lies...


	5. True Love (UG!Papyrus/Reader)

Papyrus does an actual _double-take_ when you trudge through the door.

“OH MY GOODNESS!”

You’re soaked—covered head to toe in grime—and dripping all over the floor of the foyer.

He springs up immediately, rushing over to your side to help you wrestle off your heavy, wet coat.

You mutter a ‘thanks’ at him, but little else, which begs the question…

“WHAT ON EARTH _HAPPENED???”_

Wet and noticeably miserable, you explain, “Some assholes saw me walking and thought it’d be funny to drive through a puddle.”

Papyrus is, momentarily, speechless.

You sigh.

“It’s okay,” you sullenly assure him. “You can laugh…”

 _“WHAT???_ WHY WOULD I _LAUGH?”_

He’s aghast at the very _thought._

That sounds horrible, not even _remotely_ funny—especially not happening to _you!_

Papyrus grabs you by the hand and starts to tug you across the floor, towards the bathroom.

“Wait, wait, hang on,” you protest. “The carpet!”

“I Don’t Care About The _Carpet,_ Dear-Heart,” he says, and he doesn’t.

The mucky footprints you’re leaving with each step are…

Well!

Maybe he does care, a little… but they’re _certainly_ not his highest priority now!

He doesn’t _truly_ care about the carpet he guides you over, or the fluffy towel he pushes onto you to stain, or even about the impending tub-rings you’re going to leave in the bath he draws for you.

All Papyrus _really_ cares about right now is getting you clean and warm again, because he loves you.

And he _must_ do.

Because filthy and shivering, covered in cold mud and looking like nothing so much as a sad, wet rat…

You’re _still_ the most beautiful person he’s ever laid his sockets on.

If that doesn’t mean he’s smitten, he doesn’t _know_ what does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When he doesn't even care that you're making a mess-- that's when you know it's Real.
> 
> [Undergloom AU concept](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/post/190182009823/undergloom-au-concept)


	6. Stealth (UF!Sans/Reader)

You’re gonna do it this time.

You’ve _got_ this.

Remote in hand, you flip the TV to a boring channel and turn the volume down, just _barely_ louder than the sound of Sans’ snoring.

Too quiet, too sudden is just as bad as too loud—a lesson you’ve learned the hard way.

Carefully, you set the remote down and get up slowly, sparing a backwards glance at the skeleton you’re leaving behind.

Slumped over against the arm of the couch, Sans looks unbelievably peaceful.

His sockets are closed, his teeth ever so slightly parted, not a _drop_ of tension in his bones…

He _deserves_ this rest, as far as you’re concerned.

And that’s why you’re _not_ going to wake him just to make him come to bed with you.

Not _this_ time.

Though it hurts, you ignore the allure of the nearby blanket, knowing that pulling it over Sans is just far too risky to attempt and then you creep away with the swiftest, surest, stealthiest steps you know how to make.

Soon, you’re home free upstairs, smiling to yourself in the knowledge that you’ve done good; that Sans’ sleep remains uninterrupted.

You’re a pretty good partner, you think to yourself, cracking the door to your room—silently, of course, in case a certain somebody could hear it from all the way downstairs.

You needn’t have worried, of course.

Sans couldn’t hear _anything_ from downstairs…when he was sitting right _there_ on your bed, kicking off his shoes.

“No!” you cry, thwarted yet again.

“i keep tellin’ ya,” Sans chuckles with his sleep-gravelly voice, “yer not gettin’ rid of me _that_ easy…”

“I’m not trying to get _rid_ of you,” you retort, flopping onto the bed beside him, defeated. “I just want you to sleep!”

“m’gonna,” Sans assures you, unbothered.

“But—”

“i’d rather wake up fer two minutes an’ move than wake up missin’ ya later.”

“…Oh.”

That…

 _That_ sweet little gem stalls you in your tracks, you’re not too proud to admit it.

…But in the end, your pride demands you ask at least one thing.

“Can you at least tell me where I went wrong? I _really_ thought I had it that time…”

Sans responds by throwing his arm over you, his sockets already shut again and the _fakest_ snore you’ve ever heard in your life rattling out of him.

_Typical._

You sigh and flick off the lights, deciding that Sans is _damn_ lucky you love him so much.

(Maybe someday, Sans will tell you about the subtle little squeak of the old wooden staircase that he doesn’t ever plan on fixing…)

(But probably not.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans will not be robbed of cuddle-time, don't even try it.


	7. Love Letter (UT!Papyrus/Reader)

_DEAREST, MOST TREASURED AND WONDERFUL HUMAN…_

………

No.

That sounded too flowery, too…insincere.

No matter _how_ accurate the sentiment actually _was._

Papyrus erases the letters, trying again.

_BELOVED HUMAN…_

No!

That was too on the _nose,_ no finesse at all!

He had to bury the lead a _little,_ or else where would the mystery be? The _intrigue_ that would keep you _rapt_ at attention, reading his passionate letter all the way to the end to discover his ultimate feelings?

Feelings he had tried _so_ many times by now to just… _tell_ you, each attempt somehow even more disastrous than the last.

Truly, even Papyrus’ _failures_ were great…

Simply his burden to carry, he supposes.

Papyrus erases again, taking a deep breath to steel his indomitable will and focus.

 _This_ will be The One.

_DEAR HUMAN…_

Almost…

That one feels so, so _nearly_ perfect, but…

No, wait.

He’s _got_ it.

He’ll use your _name._

~~How scandalous!~~

Papyrus says it aloud, just to hear the sound of it, and it brings a giddy little smile to his teeth.

It’s perfect.

He can finally continue!

“YOU ARE _…_ ONE OF MY GREATEST FRIENDS—PERHAPS EVEN THE _GREATEST_ , WHICH IS NO SMALL FEAT AMIDST ALL OF MY VERY GREAT FRIENDS! YOU ARE SO VERY KIND, AND FUNNY, AND I TREASURE EVERY MOMENT THAT WE SPEND TOGETHER, EVEN WHEN THEY’RE SHORT.”

He bites at the eraser of his pencil a moment, considering.

“I AM SO HAPPY TO HAVE YOU IN MY LIFE, AS MY FRIEND,” he goes on, needing that point to be clear. “BUT EVEN SO, I SOMETIMES WONDER…IF WE COULD BE FRIENDS IN A DIFFERENT WAY. IF YOU—”

“Yes!”

Papyrus jumps damn near out of his _chair,_ whirling about to face the open doorway of his room.

The sight of you standing there—right _there!_ —is just as startling as the unexpected sound of your voice, so startling that he doesn’t even register the sound of his paper tearing in half between his hands.

“HUMAN! I! ER, WHAT—………HELLO!”

“Hi,” you say back, with a big, beautiful smile. And then, “That was about wanting to date, right? You want to date me?”

Papyrus gawps at you a moment.

“I…WH……HOW DID…”

His eye-sockets widen in realization.

“ARE YOU A _TELEPATH???”_

“No? You were saying all that stuff out loud.”

His sockets widen again, with further, more correct realization.

“…OH,” Papyrus says, maybe just a _pinch_ of magic coloring his cheekbones. “WELL! I DIDN’T MEAN TO! …BUT…BUT SINCE I _HAVE…”_

You just prance right on into his room, your smile in your eyes now and a spring in your step.

“I already said ‘yes,’” you happily remind him, and…

………

 _“OH!_ SO YOU HAVE! NYEH-HEH-HEH!”

Another great success for The Great Papyrus…and his equally great new datemate!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _NO GIRLS ALLOWED. NO BOYS ALLOWED. PAPYRUS ALLOWED._
> 
> A hastily scrawled post-it is stuck onto the door as well.
> 
> _DATEMATE ALSO ALLOWED._


	8. Hidden Depths (G!Papyrus/Reader)

It’s a warm, quiet night.

The stars shine and the crickets chirp and you sit at the edge of the pool, idly kicking your feet in the water for no other reason than that it’s there, and you can.

It serves no purpose.

It just feels nice.

Its own kind of meditative, almost…though you’re not sure how you’d _explain_ that, if you had to.

Which is…

Unfortunate.

“What are you doing?”

Your next kick splashes considerably louder than you meant it to.

The cracked skull you find staring at you when you turn around is, at least, a familiar one.

“Oh… Aster! Hey… I was just, uh…”

…Well, shit.

You feel your cheeks heat, searching for words to explain your presence out here; words that won’t make your actions sound…silly, or childish, or…or pointless.

 _Especially_ to Aster, easily the most prim and poised and _proper_ of your friends.

He’d never understand—

“Is it some sort of human ritual?” he asks.

You seize on the answer without hesitation.

 _“Yes!_ Just a…just a little ritual, that’s all…”

“I see. And,” your skeleton friend inquires, “need it be completed in solitude, or is company welcome?”

“Oh, no, I…company is fine…but _you_ probably wouldn’t—”

Aster pays no mind to what he ‘probably wouldn’t.’ 

He bends right there on the deck as you watch, unlacing his shiny dress shoes, neatly folding away his argyle socks, and rolling up the legs of his nicely-pressed pants to the knee.

Before you know it, he’s sat down beside you, his feet plunking into the drink right next to yours.

“The water’s nice,” he muses placidly. 

The utterly banal statement startles a little chuckle out of you.

“You didn’t have to,” you tell him. “I… I didn’t take you as the kinda guy who’d… well, who’d go _in_ for something like this…”

Something frivolous; just for fun and with no other obvious purpose.

But Aster only smiles at you, his lime-green eye-lights looking warm and alive.

“There’s lots you don’t know about me,” he promises, almost playfully. “Perhaps you’ll learn some of it.”

_…Huh._

You turn back to the clear water of the pool, watching the light from the bottom shine up through your toes and Aster’s tarsals.

You kind of hope to…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Reader:** You know you don't _have_ to--
> 
>  **Aster, already taking off his shoes:** No, I'm going to.
> 
> [Gastertale concept](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/post/630806353725833216/have-you-ever-thought-about-a-world-where)


	9. What's Old is New Again (HSF!Sans/Reader)

“WHAT IS IT YOU HAVE THERE, PET?”

“Oh, it’s just an old radio. I found it—”

“—CLEANING OUT THE ATTIC?”

Exactly.

But you’re long beyond the point of asking how Sans even knew you had something in your _hands_ , much less what, specifically, you were doing several rooms and a floor away up until this very moment, so you don’t bother to ask.

“Yeah, but I think it might be broken. It won’t even turn on.”

You twist a few knobs and poke at a couple buttons for emphasis, making them click but producing no other effect.

“IT COULD JUST BE THE BATTERIES,” Sans suggests, and you smile just a little bit sheepishly.

“Yeah…that’s… that’s kinda why I came to get you.”

It only takes him a second to work out your meaning and when he does, a broad and _thoroughly_ amused smile spreads across his face.

“SCREWDRIVER PANEL?” he guesses.

“Would you…?”

Sans laughs and holds out his hands for the radio, which you gratefully pass over.

Wedging the flat of his claw into the screw, it’s only a few twists of the thumb until the cover pops off and reveals the most decrepit looking batteries you’ve ever seen.

“DEFINITELY DEAD,” Sans agrees as he pries them out. “ONE MOMENT, DEAR.”

Sans gets up, wandering off to where you keep the batteries. You hear a faint clattering—miscellanea knocking against each other in an overstuffed drawer—and then…

“AHA!”

The triumphant crackle of radio static.

Your conquering hero returns with the functioning radio and takes a dramatic bow for you. Of course, you laugh and clap, but Sans tuts before you can say a proper ‘thank you.’

He sets the radio down, twisting dials until music begins to fade in from soft hissing, and then he turns to you again.

Hand outstretched.

“THANK ME WITH A DANCE…?”

Oh, with a sharp winning smile like that?

“How could I say no?”

You take his hand and let him sweep you away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing quite like a dance with your sweetheart--whether you're any good at it or not!
> 
> [Horrorswapfell AU concept](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/post/630836607566643200/potential-tw-for-those-who-need-it-disability)


	10. Impulse Control (UT!Sans/Reader)

_“What did you do?”_

Sans starts laughing, positively _tickled_ that those are the first words out of your mouth.

 _ **“Sans,”**_ you continue warningly.

“what,” he replies, “no ‘hello’? no ‘hey baby,’ no ‘i miss you,’ no nothin’?”

He hears you sigh on the other end of the line.

 _“Hey, baby,”_ you try again, almost syrupy sweet this time. _“I love you, I miss you, I can’t **wait** to get home and see you and find out **what you did.”**_

“heheheheheh, how much do you know?”

Crucial information for Sans to obtain at this juncture—he’d hate to spoil any more of the surprise than he absolutely _had_ to.

 _“Not nearly enough,”_ you admit. _“But when Papyrus calls me at work, demanding I come home and do **something** about you, it’s not usually a great sign.”_

“ah c’mon, you know papyrus, he just rattles a little easy sometimes…”

_“He called you a ‘purveyor of filth’ and said you were turning the house into a ‘musical beacon of sin.’”_

“did he really?!”

It’s hard to hear you over the sound of his own laughter.

Because he loves ya’, Sans tries his best to make out what you’re saying to him anyway.

_“Sans, I can’t leave work right now, **please** just promise me it’s nothing gross, or inappropriate, or…or illegal!”_

“nah, nah, none of that, i’m not working blue or red-light _or_ black-and-white.” He pauses to consider. “or maybe that’d be orange. i guess prison does orange these days, don’t they?”

_**“Tell** me there’s nothing prison-worthy going on there.”_

“nope, nothin’ of the sort.” Sans is happy to give you that peace of mind, because it’s absolutely true. “just doin’ a little home décor, is all.”

_“……You swear?”_

“fuck yeah, i do.”

Ah, there you go—Sans got a little laugh out of you after all.

_“Okay, but do you promise, too?”_

“for you? yeah, sure.”

_“Alright. Okay, then. I gotta get back, but I’ll be over in a couple hours to see your not-gross, not-inappropriate, not-illegal handiwork. Love you.”_

And there you go, back to business after such a short little break.

Boy, does Sans miss you when you’re gone at work, on his day off, when he’s got nothing else to do…

But all his new skeleton-shaped friends, hung up all over the porch and ~~swinging naked in the breeze~~ chiming in the wind, were taking that edge off pretty nicely.

Stars above _bless_ Halloween clearance sales.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sans:** i bought a baker's dozen skeleton wind-chimes.  
>  **Reader:** Why???  
>  **Sans:** you're not here and you're 90% of my impulse control. ...also they were on sale.


	11. Joie de Vivre (SF!Sans/Reader)

Splash.

Splash, splish, splash.

………

Sploosh.

“DEAR,” Sans can’t help but interject, “YOU DO KNOW YOU’RE MEANT TO STEP _AROUND_ THE PUDDLES…DON’T YOU?”

Another splash from you, perhaps a bit more pointed this time, as you step in another.

“Where’s the fun in that?” you demand.

“NOT SOAKING YOUR SHOES, PERHAPS?”

“Pfft. You have no sense of joy.”

“NO?” Sans makes a show of considering this. “IS THAT WHY I’M DRY UNDER THIS CONVENIENT UMBRELLA AND YOU’RE GROWING DAMPER BY THE SECOND OUT IN THE RAIN?”

“Yes,” you reply decisively. “It’s not even _rain_ , this is a drizzle at _best_. And it’s warm! You’re missing out!”

“AM I REALLY?”

In answer, you turn to face him on the sidewalk, holding out your hand.

Sans chuckles.

“WAS THERE ANY POINT AT ALL IN ME BRINGING THIS UMBRELLA?” he wonders

With loving fondness in your voice, you reply, “No.”

“HEH. WELL, ALRIGHT, THEN, NO POINT DELAYING THE INEVITABLE, I SUPPOSE…”

Sans was _never_ going to say no to you.

He collapses the umbrella, letting the warm rainwater begin to pelt his skull in earnest.

You were right: it wasn’t bad at all, a gentle little sprinkle just _barely_ too heavy to be called a mist, pleasant enough to be sure…

But _nothing_ compared to the smile on your face when he takes your hand, the happy gleam in your eyes as bright as _any_ of the waking streetlights reflecting off the puddles all around you.

Sans steps into one of them with intense purpose, a needlessly aggressive ‘splash’ that sprays up around his boot.

“HOW’S THAT FOR ‘WHIMSY’?” he asks you, wearing a playful grin.

Ahh, and as always, your laughter is like _music._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there's a Natasha Bedingfield song about this...


	12. Colors (SF!Papyrus/Reader)

“don’t move.”

Of course you stop _exactly_ where you are, frozen by the urgency in Papyrus’ voice—more stern and more serious than you’ve _ever_ heard it before.

“What?” you whisper, just as urgently. “What’s wrong?”

“shh, just…just don’t, you’re gonna…”

He simply trails off, which does not at _all_ reassure you of anything.

 _“What?!”_ you hiss more forcefully. “What am I ‘gonna’?!”

A brief rustling of fabric, just out of your field of vision.

“there’s a bug.”

Your eyes widen.

 _“On_ me???”

“no, not……no.”

………

Okay, Papyrus has officially lost the benefit of the doubt you’d given him.

You move again, turning around to see what on earth kind of bug warranted _that_ much of a scare.

And there you see it, ambling carelessly along the picnic table—beneath the rapidly clicking camera-phone of your absolute _goof_ of a skeleton—one teeny, tiny beetle, just _barely_ bigger than a penny.

“Oh stars, that’s just a little June bug!”

You set your plate down on the table and right away, the beetle startles, the sun glinting off the green iridescence of its wings as it shoots up and away across the lawn.

Papyrus makes a disappointed noise, watching it go with those big puppy-dog sockets of his.

“you scared it,” he mutters mournfully, to which you have only one retort.

“You scared _me!_ I thought there was a killer bee on my head or something! You sounded so _serious!”_

“snrk…m’sorry.”

Papyrus _at least_ has the grace to come boop your forehead with his teeth to sweeten the apology _before_ flipping through the shots he’d taken of the little bug.

“…it was so _shiny_ , i thought only, like…rocks and stuff got that shiny… are lots of bugs like that???”

“Lots of _beetles_ , I think,” you say, taking a seat. “Are you into bugs now? I didn’t think you got off to a great start with Surface bugs.”

Papyrus sits, too.

“i’m not _into_ them, it was just a pretty one. i—” He stops, belatedly realizing what you’d said. “i!!! never saw a butterfly before! i didn’t…! that’s, _you_ , i… that’s not _fair,_ to…!”

You cover your mouth a little to hold in your laughter and just let Papyrus try to explain himself, watching fondly as his cheekbones flush your _favorite_ shade of violet…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artists and their Aesthetics (and the people who love them)...


	13. A Thousand Miles (HS!Papyrus/Reader)

By the time you finally catch a glimpse of the chair you’re looking for, you’ve been wandering around in nothing but your bathing suit for…

Well, entirely _too_ long, considering that your only accessory is a single starchy towel slung over your shoulder.

But in hindsight, you probably should’ve skipped all the searching and just come right here.

The lone little jacuzzi tub tucked away in the corner of the resort, far from prying eyes and incessant noise?

Practically a Papyrus- _magnet_.

Sure enough, you find the skeleton you’re seeking _right_ where he ought to be: sunken down into the gently bubbling water, his sockets closed in relaxation…

You feel a little bad to disturb him…

But not _that_ bad.

“Hi there,” you say, and tamp down a laugh when Papyrus noticeably _jumps_ and whips his skull around to look at you.

Recognition dawns quickly enough.

“what are _you_ doing here?”

Ahh, what a welcome!

The actual words are softened considerably by the unmistakable wince of ‘why the fuck did i say it like _that?!’_ flitting across his face, so you try not to pay it much mind.

“I wanted to go for a dip,” you explain. “Mind if I join you?”

“…no,” says Papyrus. And then, with color slowly overtaking his face, “i, i mean, i _meant_ , no, i don’t _mind,_ not…not no, you _can’t,_ i didn’t—”

“Thanks,” you cut him off, feeling merciful.

In spite of its steamy, bubbly appearance, the hot tub isn’t actually all that _hot_ , but slipping into the warm water still feels _good._

You sigh happily and submerge yourself to the shoulders, just beside Papyrus.

It takes him longer than you’d have thought before he attempts to speak again.

“i…were you……were you looking for me?”

No reason to deny it.

“Yeah.”

“……… _why?”_

The question is so incredulous; so _bewildered_ that it makes you crack a smile.

“Because I like you?” you answer rhetorically. “Because we’re friends?”

You wouldn’t have come on vacation with him and his brother without that as a _baseline._

You think that maybe…someday…it could even be a bit _more_ than ‘like’; a bit _more_ than ‘friends’…

But you’ll stick with the basics for now, and it doesn’t get any more ‘basic’ than convincing Papyrus of the odd notion that you might _actually_ find his company _enjoyable._

“Besides,” you say offhandedly, “I’d rather hang out with _you_ than sit by the pool with all the yelling kids.”

 _“oh_ my god, don’t even get me _started_ on the kids… i didn’t think sounds could _go_ that high and still be audible. did you see that one with the…”

You smile, successfully having baited Papyrus into conversation.

Everything starts somewhere…

You wonder where you’ll end up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They say that even the journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step.
> 
> [Horrorswap AU concept](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/post/630823593005170688/this-ones-a-long-one-sorry-for-all-the)


	14. A Light in the Dark (HS!Sans/Reader)

It’s not until the strange figure approaching you slowly, steadily from the darkness of the night is mere _feet_ away from you… that you breathe a sigh of relief.

It’s only Sans.

Which makes sense, because he _was_ the one you called to come get you.

“Jeez, that was quick,” you mutter, impressed.

But, “FORGIVE ME,” says Sans, “I WOULD HAVE BEEN HERE SOONER, BUT I’M NOT VERY FAMILIAR WITH THE AREA. ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

“Oh…Oh yeah, I’m fine, I just…the car, ha, obviously…”

Your car, with its _very_ flat tire—and you, master of foresight and preparedness, with a jack and a spare tire, but not a single tire-iron to your name.

“I’m _so_ sorry to make you come all the way out here,” you have to apologize. “I just… I couldn’t think of anyone else to _call,_ and—”

“DON’T APOLOGIZE.” Sans kneels down, giving your tire a cursory inspection. “YOU’RE A VERY GOOD FRIEND OF MINE, I’M HAPPY TO HELP.”

The statement, cool and matter-of-fact, gives you a moment of pause.

You don’t know why.

You’ve known Sans for awhile now. You’ve enjoyed time spent and conversations had with him. He was the first person on your mind when you found yourself in trouble, after all, fast and reliable and helpful to the core.

Your friend.

But maybe, somehow…it never really occurred to you that Sans—cold, aloof, polite yet distant Sans—might actually think of _you_ as his friend, too.

“…HMM.”

The vaguely dissatisfied noise startles you out of your momentary stupor.

“Is something wrong?”

Of course you realize the problem the moment after you’ve said it.

“Oh! It’s… It’s probably hard to see that, without a light…” You reach into your pocket for your phone. “Let me—”

A sharp, decisive ‘crack’ cuts you off, the unmistakable sound of…

………

Of a _glow-stick_ being snapped to life.

You laugh, surprised, but take the offered baton in hand and hold it steady.

“IT PAYS TO BE PREPARED,” Sans says, his smile a little bigger than you’re used to seeing it.

“I’ll…try to remember that,” you concede, taking it as the pointed suggestion he probably meant it to be. “…Don’t know that I took you for a ‘pink’ sorta guy, though.”

Sans pauses in his task.

His eye-lights, vibrant red ringing soft blue, flick to the side.

Their intensity is so much _more_ than the pale pink glow of the stick in your hand, for all that they both light up the night.

A rivulet of…something drips slowly along the side of his skull; sweat, you suppose, though it wasn’t very hot out and you didn’t know skeletons _could_ sweat.

“…I LIKE PINK,” he says at length, turning back to the tire. “I HOPE THERE’S A LOT OF IT IN MY FUTURE.”

You…have no idea what that means.

You realize there’s probably a _lot_ about Sans that you don’t know.

But as he helps you change your tire in an abandoned parking lot in the middle of the night and sends you safely on your way… you think you might be hoping for a lot of _Sans_ in _your_ future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans is always ready for emergencies. The fact that glowsticks are cool is merely incidental.
> 
> [Horrorswap AU concept](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/post/630823593005170688/this-ones-a-long-one-sorry-for-all-the)
> 
> Edit: [Why is pink important? Well...](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/post/631979830489104384/i-feel-dumb-but-whats-the-significance-to-the)


	15. Night Rising (UF!Papyrus/Reader)

It’s the fourth time through the same sentence without retaining a thing that makes Papyrus shove his textbook across his desk, _away_ from him.

The intricacies of human legal systems—while _not_ beyond his grasp!—are irritating and numerous and he is decidedly out of patience for them.

The frustration of this book has nothing to _do_ with the four uninterrupted hours that he’s been studying it. It would be silly to even _suggest_ that his last rest having been………not…altogether recently…could be in _any_ way contributing to his lack of focus now.

~~It’s the book that’s stupid, not him.~~

Papyrus huffs and leans back in his chair, eye-lights casting about the room for _something_ else… _anything_ else to do but study…

And at _this_ hour, feeling _this_ ~~tired~~ out of sorts, not a _thing_ catches his fancy.

So… it’s the stupid book or ~~sleep~~ surrender.

Papyrus growls, scrubbing the heels of his palms against his eye-sockets and shoving up to his feet.

If he’s going to do this, he at _least_ needs a bit of fresh air in here, and that’s non-negotiable!

Perhaps more forcefully than necessary, Papyrus slams open his bedroom window.

The night wind hits him in the face like a welcome slap, cool and brisk, carrying the scent of trees and grass and delicious, freshly baked bread…

………

Wait.

“WHAT???”

Papyrus sniffs the air again, making sure he wasn’t mistaken somehow—but no, it’s there, fresh _bread_ of all things, on the wind in the odd hours of the morning when every other living being in the neighborhood is lazily sleeping away.

And it seems to be…especially _close._

………

Papyrus is beginning to have a hunch…and since they’ve never led him wrong before, he follows this one: out of his room, down the stairs, and into the kitchen.

Where a _light_ is on.

“YOU!”

You freeze under Papyrus’ accusing stare, wide-eyed like a raccoon caught dumpster-diving.

“WHAT ARE _YOU_ DOING UP?” he demands, as if he hadn’t just caught you red-handed— _literally_ red-handed, pulling a loaf of bread from the oven with _his_ favorite mitts.

“I…What are _you_ doing up?”

“I ASKED YOU FIRST!”

Childish, perhaps, but too classic a retort to refute.

You sigh, setting aside your illicit night-bread.

“I couldn’t sleep,” is your lame excuse. “I thought I might as well get something done…”

Which is…

Hm.

Admirable, he supposes.

“Now why are _you_ up?”

“I,” Papyrus proclaims, “WAS READING. YOUR _BREAD_ DISTRACTED ME.”

“Sorry,” you say, too actually apologetic for him to chastise you further. “Did you want some?”

Papyrus narrows his eye-sockets at you.

“…WHAT KIND IS IT?”

“Chocolate swirl. It’s my first time making it, I don’t know if it’s any good.”

So it’s bribery, then—you _are_ devious.

Well.

He may be… _possibly_ …just a _little_ bit overdue for a break.

A small one.

“FINE,” Papyrus relents, “I _SUPPOSE_ I CAN JUDGE YOUR ATTEMPT FOR YOU.”

You waste no time scurrying off to the drawer for a knife, and while you rustle around in the utensils, Papyrus breathes in the sweet aroma of bread and chocolate.

He decides _that's_ what making his chest feel warm and _not_ the hopeful smile on your face as you slice off a bit of your loaf for him.

…Probably.

………

Either way, it's _damn_ good bread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Papyrus:** IF I SLEEP, I LOSE.
> 
>  **Also Papyrus:** BREAD? AT NIGHT...? THAT'S ILLEGAL!!!


	16. Meet.........Cute??? (G!Sans/Reader)

“Are you seriously just everywhere?!”

The skeleton up on the ladder turns at your outburst, looking down at you with the bright yellow lights in his distinctively cracked skull.

The very same distinctive skull that you’ve been seeing _all over town_ for the past few _months._

What had started as a vaguely amusing coincidence had quickly turned _bizarre_ as the same guy just kept popping up and up and _up_ , in the least likely of places, always when you expected it the least, and…

And maybe, it had made you the _slightest_ bit paranoid…considering you had just yelled at a total stranger without so much as a ‘hello’ first.

_Oh jeez…_

It pains you to do, but you stand your ground when the skeleton slides down the ladder and comes over to you, looking vaguely perplexed.

The least you can do now is apologize.

“i’m sorry,” the guy says, “do i know you?”

“N…no… And uh, _I’m_ the one…who’s sorry, I… Stars, that was so _rude_ , I…I don’t know what that was, I think I just went crazy for a second, or something!”

“haha, i think we’ve all been _there,_ no need to apologize.” The skeleton smiles, an infectious grin if you’ve ever seen one. “having a rough week, or…?”

“Yeah,” you admit, “something…like that. …I-I’m sorry, I just…I swear, I’ve been seeing you _everywhere_ lately.”

He laughs.

“yeah, i do get around,” he agrees easily. “sorry if it freaked you out, though. i’m just an odd-jobs kinda guy, so y’know…bounce here and there and…everywhere, heh! i promise i’m not following you or anything _creepy.”_

Odd jobs.

What a completely normal and _reasonable_ explanation for all the places you’d spotted the poor man: bussing tables, moving furniture, picking up trash…

And now, judging by the ladder and the pile of wet, rotting leaves on the grass, “Let me guess—gutter service today?”

He laughs again, louder this time like you’d said something funny.

“heheh, nah, this one’s a freebie! just doing a little favor for a friend.” He turns to the house behind him, waving jovially at somebody in the window, and—………

That looks like Toriel Dreemurr.

The _queen_ —er, the _former_ queen of _all monsters._

“Do you _know_ everybody, too?” you ask incredulously.

The skeleton just grins at you, an earnest glint in his eye-lights.

“i don’t know _you,”_ he says.

…Fair point.

You introduce yourself, a touch sheepishly and he does the same.

“my friends call me d.b. it’s nice to meet you!”

He peels off his slimy rubber gloves and holds his hand out. 

There’s a hole in it, straight through the middle of the palm, and it feels a little odd as you take his hand to shake.

But still…

“Nice to meet you, too, D.B.… _finally.”_

“hahaha!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's not a stalker, he's far too oblivious to be a stalker--but that doesn't mean he can't accidentally freak someone out with a series of coincidences!
> 
> [Gastertale concept](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/post/630806353725833216/have-you-ever-thought-about-a-world-where)


	17. Luck Be a Skeleton (UG!Sans/Reader)

Sans wakes to a sound he’d know anywhere—the sound of hopeless, soul-wrenching despair and regret.

“Ah, _shit…”_ you mutter.

“mmn, whassamatter…?” Sans mumbles, sitting up a little and taking stock of what’s what.

Game Night, he remembers quickly, seeing all of your friends gathered around the table. He’d closed his sockets for a little bit when that Uno death-match just kept going on and on and _on_ … 

Must’ve turned into a ‘lotta bit’ at some point, ‘cause judging by the scorecards on the table, you were a couple rounds deep in Yahtzee now.

…Aww, and look at that, you’d even been keeping a card for _him_ , his name scrawled out in your handwriting and scribbled all over.

Talk about a case of the warm fuzzies…

Sans is really starting to think he loves you.

And maybe that’s why a little something in him perks up when Undyne speaks from across the table.

“Go back to your nap, Sans, your human’s just about to become the Ultimate Loser—nothing can save ‘em now!”

You sigh and pat him on the arm.

“She’s right,” you lament, showing him your scorecard. “I’m too far down, I’d need a _Yahtzee_ to win now, and…”

Sans looks at the dice on the table: two twos, two fours, and a one.

Tough odds…

But he’s beaten worse.

“hey,” he says, gently bumping you with his elbow. “can i roll?”

You frown.

“I already rolled for you, you lost, too.”

“heheh, no, i mean for _you._ now.”

You look at your dice and then at him.

And then you pass him the cup.

“Do you worst,” you say.

_not a chance, bright-eyes._

Sans cracks his knuckles, scooping up all but the twos and giving the cup a long, measured shake.

The dice roll out, clattering against the table.

When they settle, there’s _three_ twos…and a six and a four. It’ll be tight, but—

“Oh!” Alphys claps her claws together, excited. “Y-you could make it!”

“No!” Undyne exclaims. “No, you can’t! You’re gonna lose!”

Sans pays the peanut gallery no heed, taking up the four and the six one last time. You look at him, just a little bit perplexed as he holds them up to your face.

“blow for luck?”

“…Haha! Okay, sure. Why not?”

You struggle to purse your lips around your smile and blow on his phalanges.

Superstition or no, there’s _gotta_ be a little magic in it because suddenly, Sans _feels_ like the luckiest skeleton alive.

The dice hit the table, tumbling, tumbling…

………

“Oh! Oh my stars, _Yahtzee!!!”_

“Oh my gosh, n-no way! Congrats!”

_“Nooooooo!!!”_

Alphys quickly begins using the back of her scorecard to calculate the odds of those throws, Undyne grumbles about the injustice of it all, and Papyrus even pokes his head out from the kitchen to say that if they let Sans touch the dice, anything that happened after was their own fault.

And Sans…

Sans gets a _big_ hug and a kiss on the cheek from you, a reward just as good as the sparkle in your eyes and in your smile.

Yep—he’s _definitely_ the luckiest skeleton alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just because he's been too exhausted ~~and depressed~~ to pick up a set of dice in years doesn't mean he's forgotten how to be infuriatingly good at finessing 'em, especially with the right motivator.
> 
> [Undergloom AU concept](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/post/190182009823/undergloom-au-concept%22%22)


	18. Sweet Truth (HT!Sans/Reader)

You walk out onto the sidewalk feeling accomplished, your big task of the day finished and behind you.

Your schedule is free from now onwards and the possibilities are endless…though you think you might be leaning towards—

………

You pause mid-step, noticing a familiar figure off a ways down the street.

The figure spots you looking and makes an attempt to duck behind a lamppost, which…

Well, suffice it to say, you’re laughing all the way over to Sans, who’s already going blue in the face.

“Did you try to _hide_ from me?” you manage to ask through the snickers.

Sans, tall and broad and absolutely _unmissable anywhere,_ just gives you a hangdog grin.

“i, uh…i realized it was stupid as soon as i did it, eheheheh…i didn’t _mean_ to…”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t _mean_ to hide from me, then… What are you doing over this way?” you have to ask. “I didn’t expect to run into you around here.”

The ensuing silence is expected—you know Sans occasionally needs a couple extra seconds to sort out his thoughts; remember his motivations—but the vaguely _guilty_ expression on his skull _isn’t._

“i……i was…uh, heh…i was kinda just…waitin’ to see you come out.”

You blink, surprised.

“…Really? Were you…worried about me?”

Sans shrugs, looking sheepish but offering no further explanation.

“It was just a little trip to the dentist.”

You hadn’t even thought Sans would _remember_ you were going in today, much less be _worried_ about it…

Sans' big red eye-light is looking away from you, staring hard at the sidewalk.

“it, uh… i…i just, y’know, when…when Pap had his stuff done…”

………

_Oh._

The realization hits like a truck.

You’ve only seen the one picture of your partner’s brother before the braces, but one is _plenty_ to imagine what that trip… _trips_ to the dentist might’ve been like: the sounds, the smells, the _hours_ it would've taken…

And Sans would’ve only been in the _waiting room_ for it all, having to pick at old magazines and stew over what state poor Papyrus might be in when he finally came out.

_Aww…_

Struck by a sudden surge of affection, you get up on your tiptoes and pull at Sans’ hoodie until he bends to meet you in a kiss.

He goes, of course, confused but _not_ protesting.

“…You’re sweet,” you tell him fondly when you pull back. “It was only a cleaning, I’m fine…but I _was_ thinking about maybe going for a burger, if you wanted to come.”

Getting that weird, post-dentist-appointment taste out of your mouth was Priority Number One for you right now, and you’d hardly mind a little company.

_Especially_ if there was a chance you could put your big, sweet skeleton’s mind at ease in the process.

Sans stares at you a moment, processing.

And then, he smiles.

“eheheh…yeah, i could go for some burg. …don’t suppose you’d put it on my tab?”

“Pfft, you wish!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, just invite Sans to the waiting room, so he doesn't look like a giant goof trying to hide behind a lamppost.
> 
> He'll look like a giant goof trying to fit into those tiny little chairs, instead.


	19. Forbidden Fruit (HF!Papyrus/Reader)

There he is.

Mister tall, dark, and handsome himself, a sleek line of black lounging gracefully on the park bench…one long, long leg crossed elegantly over the other, his handsome skull angled away in profile.

You see him here all the time, especially early in the morning.

At first, you’d only taken notice of him for the obvious: that he was an incredibly tall, living and breathing skeleton striding through your favorite park in a city populated by only humans until _very_ recently.

Then, for _some_ odd reason, you had started to think he looked familiar, like you had _seen_ him somewhere before, somehow, somewhere…

You hadn’t, obviously, how _could_ you have? But it got you looking closer—at his sharp cheekbones and his sharper teeth and the piercing red lights in his eye-sockets…

And you had…maybe…possibly… _definitely_ developed a little bit of a crush.

But now, finally, the moment seems right.

You’re going to go _talk_ to him.

You decisively make your approach ~~before you can wimp out~~ , striding up to the bench overlooking the pond.

“Hi,” you say, and the skeleton’s eye-lights flick over to you, sweeping you up and down before returning to the water.

“HI,” he says back.

Which is…not the most encouraging response…

But not a ‘get lost, weird human,’ either—at least, not yet.

So, you introduce yourself, and he does the same.

(You’re definitely going to google ‘Papyrus’ later and see if anything besides a font comes up, you could _swear_ you’ve heard it before _somewhere.)_

So far, so…okay!

Spying an apple in Papyrus’ spindly fingers, you seize on the topic to talk about.

“I need to eat more fruit,” you lament. “I love apples, I just…ha, I just hate the red ‘delicious’ ones, they’re so _mealy,_ eugh… What, uh, what is that, a honeycrisp?”

“GALA,” says Papyrus, taking out a little paring knife.

You think for a second that he might peel the fruit, but then you notice some movement out on the water.

“Oh! Do you like geese?”

Papyrus carves off a piece of the apple, flicking it out into the water where it’s instantly pecked up by the birds.

He turns, looking you square in the eye.

“NO.”

“………”

You…don’t know where to go with that.

In fact, you just…stand there, awkwardly, as Papyrus continues cutting up the apple and tossing bits to the fowl, not saying a word; not even acknowledging your presence.

“W…well,” you manage eventually. “I guess… I guess it doesn’t matter to _them_ if you like them or not. They still get to eat, either way.”

Papyrus stills.

Probably trying to remember what you’d said _before_ , since you took so damn long to come _up_ with that dumb little gem, and—

“YES. THAT’S TRUE.”

Papyrus stands and you jump, craning your neck up to meet the cool gaze he levels down at you.

“EXCUSE ME,” he says. “I HAVE TO LEAVE NOW.”

And then, he does.

………

You slump down onto the bench as soon as he’s gone, gusting out the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

Was that…

That was a failure…right?

Not…not a ‘no,’ since you hadn’t even _asked_ him anything, but…

It didn’t really feel like a _success,_ either…

You lean back a little, bracing your hands on the seat, only to go still when you feel something touch your fingertip.

………

There’s a slice of apple there.

It’s big, too big a bite for a goose, and…

And a little too deliberately placed, flesh side up, balanced on the peel, to have simply been _forgotten_.

You pick up the slice of apple, considering it for a moment.

Then you bite it, a crisp snap and a sweet burst of flavor on your tongue.

 _Not a ‘no,’_ you think, cautiously optimistic. _Maybe just…‘try again later.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader goes home and does some googling only to realize they tried to hit on the former King of All Monsters.
> 
> Said former king waves off their apologies later for if they made him uncomfortable because he is above such things, and he also has a whole extra apple to give to them. It doesn't mean anything that it's a honeycrisp like they mentioned, don't read into it.
> 
> [Horrorfell AU concept](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/post/190481512178/alright-this-one-definitely-goes-under-a-cut-xd)


	20. Pep Talk (HT!Papyrus/Reader)

So far so good.

A nice dinner, lively conversation, and you _know_ Papyrus has a delicious dessert in the wings to really bring it all home.

Smooth sailing!

You wanted _so_ much for this night to go well, and—not to jinx anything—it seems like your wish is coming true.

“This is going great,” you say quietly as you gather up a few plates.

It was mostly for yourself, but your skeleton responds anyway.

“You Think So?” he wonders in equally hushed tones. “I’m Glad… They Seem—…”

Papyrus stops mid-sentence.

Unfortunately, you don’t have to ask why.

Your guests of the evening were never informed that the walls of the kitchen were a touch…thin.

And so, even though they aren’t being _loud_ , you can still hear fragments of their conversation, a room away.

_“…seems nice, but is…”_

_“…on’t know, he’s **so** …”_

_“…guess we just have to…”_

_“… **maybe** …”_

The more you listen, the more your stomach sinks.

You honestly can’t tell from the tones and snippets if being able to hear more would make this better or worse. 

Either way, you’re _mortified_ —and it’s not even _you_ they’re talking about.

You whirl around, trying to catch Papyrus’ reaction, and your heart _pangs_ at his complete and utter stillness; at the total _lack_ of expression on his skull, pointedly blank.

Empty.

“Oh…oh sweetheart,” you whisper. “I’m…I’m so—”

You reach for him, instinctively wanting to comfort…but that’s when Papyrus seems to blink back to life.

“No,” he says, taking a step back. “No, I…It’s Fine. I Understand.”

“No—”

_“No.”_ Papyrus gently sets the pie tin in his hands onto the counter, freeing his massive hands to curl around yours. “It Really Is Fine. I Understand: These People…They Care About You, And They Want You To Be With Someone Who’s Good For You. _Believe_ Me, Sunshine, I Understand That. And _I’m…”_

You squeeze Papyrus’ fingers tightly in your own.

“I’m Witty And Sociable!”

You blink, surprised, but Papyrus continues.

“I Have A Good Job! I’m An Amazing Cook! I Keep A Tidy Home! And Most Importantly, I Make You Happy!”

The proud determination in his grin wavers, _just_ a little bit.

“Nyeh-Heh-Heh…At Least…I Like To _Think_ I Do…”

“You do,” you promise, and the beaming smile on Papyrus’ face is so infectious that you put one on, too.

“Then! That’s All That Matters!” he proclaims—easy as that. “Of Course I’d _Like_ Them To Like Me…But! If They Still Need Me To Prove Myself After Tonight, Or Even If There’s _No_ Way To Prove Myself _Ever_ … If _You_ Love Me, That’s The Only Thing I Need!”

“I do love you.”

_Quite_ a lot.

More by the _day,_ it’s starting to seem.

Papyrus smiles, bending down ~~, down, down~~ to kiss you, his braces a rough little scratch against your lips.

“I Love You, Too,” he says. “…And I Hope _They’ll_ Love This Pie!”

So saying, he scoops up the tin and all but flounces out of the kitchen, back into the fray with a _flourish._

You aren’t far behind him.

And now you’re pretty sure that even if the pie _doesn’t_ win them over, Papyrus’ sheer, unadulterated charm _will_ …eventually.

_You_ sure as hell hadn’t stood a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, the ol' Meet the Parents... or Meet the Siblings... or Meet the Close Friends... Intentionally vague so you can decide for yourself. ;3
> 
> And we've officially hit one drabble for each of the skeletons I write for! Hooray!
> 
> From here on out, I'll just be recycling them, so expect to see everybody again--just in a different order! XD


	21. Curbside Pickup (SF!Sans/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: alcohol, light-hearted drunkenness

You’re having a wonderful evening.

This night out was _just_ what you needed after the week you’ve been having and you feel great—relaxed and loose and absolutely _vibing_ on your way home, a song on your lips and even a little dance to your step.

You’re not really expecting the hands that latch onto your arms from out of nowhere.

You squawk and flail a little, trying to turn around.

To…defend yourself???

Were you being attacked?

_Mugged?!_

You’re not sure…

To your surprise, though, your assailant _allows_ you to whirl on him, and—

Oh.

Oh!

“Sans!” you chirp, surprise and relief washing over you at the sight of that familiar skull. “Hey! Hi. Where’d you come from???”

“THE USUAL,” Sans replies.

Work, then— _boring._

“WHERE ARE YOU GOING, DEAR?”

“Home,” you say, which should be obvious.

“MHM,” says Sans. “AND DID YOU TELL YOUR FRIENDS YOU WERE LEAVING?”

“Yeah…” You pause, though, trying to recall it specifically. “I mean…I think I did? I’m pretty…pretty sure, yeah.”

Sans, however, shakes his head.

“YOU DIDN’T. OR IF YOU DID, YOUR FRIEND IS EVEN MORE DRUNK THAN YOU AND FORGOT, IF THAT INCOHERENT PHONE CALL I RECEIVED WAS ANY INDICATION.”

At that, you scoff.

“I’m not drunk!” Well… “I mean…I am, but…I’m fine, I’m not… I’m not _that_ … Who called you? They’re being silly, I’m just a little tired! That’s why I’m going home!”

To you, this is exceedingly obvious.

To Sans, it seems like it must be funny, because there’s a familiar amused glint in those pretty purple eye-lights of his.

“DEAR…TELL ME HONESTLY,” he asks, like he’s trying not to smile at you. “DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR SHOES ARE?”

………

You look down.

Somehow, some way, you do indeed appear to be…without shoes…walking barefoot on this sidewalk.

When…

When did you take off your shoes?

Were you carrying them? Did you drop them?

You don’t know.

“……I _had_ them,” is all you can think to say.

Sans chuckles.

“AH STARS, YOU’RE WORSE THAN PAPYRUS… HOME, IS THAT WHERE YOU WERE DANCING OFF TO?”

You nod.

“THAT, I CAN ASSIST YOU WITH,” Sans promises. “BUT YOU HAVE A CHOICE.”

“Of what???”

“I’M GOING TO CARRY YOU. YOU GET TO CHOOSE IF I CARRY YOU LIKE A PRINCESS, A FOOTBALL, OR A SACK OF POTATOES.”

Ooh…potatoes…

Potatoes sound _very_ tempting ~~and delicious~~ right now, but…

You don’t think you’re _that_ drunk, but a shoulder digging into your stomach doesn’t sound very good, and it’d be _really_ rude to be sick on Sans’ back when he’s doing you a _favor…_

“I COULD ALSO ACCOMMODATE A PIGGYBACK RIDE.”

Your head shoots up, your eyes wide and hopeful.

Sans only chuckles again and turns, bending a little for you to clamber on up.

You happily wrap yourself around him, setting your chin on his shoulder as he hooks his arms under your knees, getting a good, solid grip on you.

You stare down past his chest at your feet, dangling in the air, a little dirty from the long way you’d walked s—…

“WHAT?” Sans wonders as you start to laugh.

“S…heh, s…hahaha…I’m _sans shoes…”_

“PFFT, HEHEHEHEHEH!”

You just continue giggling into Sans’ neck as the world around you winks out, your house appearing around you.

Tonight was _exactly_ what you needed.

 _Especially_ this perfect ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Skeleton Express is _not_ the same as an Uber... but a cleaning fee may still apply if you're sick on the ride.


	22. Noticed (US!Papyrus/Reader)

You are of the opinion that reading and retaining information is, quite frankly, hard enough already without interruption.

“So…Halloween’s coming up.”

You glance up from your book, giving your friend your best deadpan stare.

“…Yep.”

‘Friend’ is…maybe a little generous: you’re taking an online course with them and happen to come to the same library whenever an actual, physical book is required.

With your final paper for the class rapidly coming due, you’d _really_ like to find a few solid sources to cite—and more importantly, _not_ be here all day.

But somebody seems to have other ideas.

“I was thinking… Y’know, it might be a good time to, uh… Well, y’know.”

Temporarily, you give up on your book.

“To what?” you ask.

Your classmate nods meaningfully towards the Fantasy section behind you.

When you look, you see a familiar skeleton in an orange hoodie, hard at work re-shelving books.

“Ah,” you realize, “Papyrus—you’re gonna ask him out?”

“Maybe,” they shrug. “They’re having that Halloween thing here, I thought… I dunno. Might bring him something to break the ice, put it out there… Box of chocolates is cliché, but that’s a classic, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” you agree. And then, thoughtlessly, “White chocolate, if you go for it.”

They give you a look, like you’ve just said something especially odd.

“Why _white_ chocolate?”

“That’s his favorite.”

Their look intensifies and you frown when they ask, “Did he _tell_ you that?”

“Well…no,” you admit, “but…the candy bowl, at the front desk…”

Where Papyrus worked most often…

“It always has the milk and dark chocolates in it, but there’s never any white… And when they had those wafers for awhile, the dark chocolate ones were in there all week, but the white chocolate ones were gone after the first _day…”_

Your classmate is openly staring at you now, their eyes _very_ wide.

“I don’t know,” you concede, a little embarrassed now. “I guess it’s just…a guess. I don’t really…… Milk chocolate’s probably the _safer_ bet, actually, if you—”

“no, you’re right.”

It occurs to you, belatedly, that there could’ve been another reason for your friend to have looked so surprised.

And that reason is standing _right behind you_ when you turn around.

“uh…you…yeah,” says Papyrus haltingly. “white…white chocolate is my favorite, you got me. i didn’t think anybody paid enough attention to notice something like that…”

Not knowing how much of the conversation the library skeleton overheard, feeling vaguely guilty for talking about him behind his back (regardless of context), your response is…underwhelming.

“Yeah, I……… Yeah.”

“…sorry,” Papyrus adds abruptly. “to, uh…i didn’t mean to interrupt. i just wanted to bring this over, while i was thinking about it.”

So saying, he holds a book out to you, which—flustered and confused—you take.

You read the title of it aloud: _extremely_ relevant to your course _and_ the topic of your final paper.

Papyrus scratches a little sheepishly at the back of his neck when you look up at him, wide-eyed.

“sorry if it’s weird. i just…remembered some of the books you asked for last time, and i thought…that one might help.”

It looks promising, from the cover and jacket notes alone…though to be honest, you…

Hadn’t thought anybody had paid enough attention to notice something like that…

“Thank you,” you say sincerely and Papyrus chuckles, a quiet little ‘nyeheheh’ before awkwardly wandering off between the stacks of books.

And as he goes, you think you might see some of what your friend sees in that skeleton.

With a bashful tinge of blue on his face, he really _does_ look kinda cute.

………

(Your classmate doesn’t end up making it to the library’s Halloween party, but _you_ do.)

(And it’s _not_ bitter dark chocolate that you bring with you as a special gift.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Reader's Classmate:** Hmm, he's cute, but I just can't compete with the mortifying ordeal of being known... C'est la vie. 😩


	23. Please Do Pamper the Skeleton (UT!Papyrus/Reader)

“AH, THE LAUNDRY ROOM!” Papyrus declares.

He sounds a bit surprised.

“I’M A BIT SURPRISED!”

“How so?”

“WELL, IT’S CERTAINLY SCENIC,” he admits, looking around the room—freshly tidied, in anticipation of the company. “BUT I’M NOT SURE I UNDERSTAND WHY YOU WANTED ME TO COME HERE WITH YOU.”

“Why else?” you wonder rhetorically. “For the laundry!”

Papyrus considers this, narrowing his eye-sockets at you.

“…ARE YOU JUST TRYING TO GET ME TO DO YOUR LAUNDRY FOR YOU? BECAUSE I WILL, HAPPILY, BUT INHERENT DOMESTICITY ASIDE, I JUST WANT TO POINT OUT THAT IT’S NOT VERY TRADITIONALLY ROMANTIC TO CALL ME OVER TO DO YOUR CHORES.”

That makes you laugh.

“No, no, I already did it! I’m just waiting for—” the dryer dings, signaling it’s finished, “—that!”

 _“FOLDING_ YOUR LAUNDRY,” Papyrus concludes, approvingly. “CONSIDERABLY MORE INTIMATE THAN DIRTY CLOTHES. STILL A CHORE, BUT BETTER!”

You shake your head, opening up the dryer.

“Even better than _that,”_ you promise.

“BETTER??? WOWIE, YOU’RE REALLY GETTING MY EXPECTATIONS UP! I’M SO READY!”

You’ll be the judge of that!

Trying to channel some of Papyrus’ own charisma, you whip the blanket out of the dryer with a dramatic flourish, sweeping it around the both of you before he knows what’s hit him.

And it _will_ hit him, because _this_ isn’t just any old blanket.

It’s the softest, fuzziest blanket you own, the one that Papyrus willingly takes his gloves off just to touch.

It’s just been washed with that neutral ‘clean linen’ detergent he likes, tumbled dry with balls of aluminum foil to stave off static cling, and now cozy-warm fresh from the dryer.

And you’re in it, too!

You like to think that’s also a pretty big plus.

“OH…” says Papyrus. And then, “OH, THIS…THIS IS VERY NICE…”

Beneath the deliciously warm blanket, Papyrus’ arms curl around you, snuggling you closer into his chest.

You can feel him relaxing, physically, and the only thing stopping you from fully indulging in that little flicker of pride in your soul is the fact that he still seems—just the _slightest_ bit—stiff.

You think quickly, drawing on all your knowledge of Papyrus to figure out what you'd missed.

“…Are you thinking about the lint trap?”

“…NO,” Papyrus says, in a tone that indicates he very much is.

“Is it bothering you?”

“………YES, VERY MUCH.”

You reach up, pressing a fond kiss to his teeth.

“I cleaned it out this morning,” you assure him.

Ahh, _there_ it goes, _total_ relaxation from your favorite skeleton, Papyrus practically melting onto you and squeezing you ever tighter.

“YOU ARE _PERFECT,”_ he murmurs, adoringly.

“No, you,” you reply, just as lovingly.

“NO, _US!”_ he insists.

And that, you think you can accept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus really would have done the laundry, but this is definitely a better date idea.


	24. Peaches and Crime (G!Sans/Reader)

You eye your nemesis, watching intently as she slinks around her enclosure doing menial tasks. She doesn’t notice your observation, or if she does, she’s too cowardly to meet your eyes.

_Or_ too arrogant.

She makes a quick retreat, ducking into her evil lair and out of your sight and you glare after her.

Nothing of note today.

But it was still early.

And you were _vigilant._

“what did your elderly neighbor’s yard ever do to you?”

You stop spraying the plants in the yard (your own menial task) to glance over at D.B., looking back at you with a bemused expression.

“It’s not the yard, Deebs,” you tell him. “It’s the neighbor. And don’t let her age fool you! She’s a crone.”

He chuckles, taking the hose from you and rolling it up to put away.

“okay, so…what’d _she_ do you to, then?”

To _you?_ Nothing in particular.

You tried to keep your head down and be a quiet, unobtrusive neighbor—mostly because you knew how she acted around your _other_ neighbors.

Spreading baseless rumors and starting needless drama all around the neighborhood, calling cops on any gathering of more than three people _regardless_ of noise, storming _out of her house_ to yell at anybody who _dared_ to park _across the street_ from her home…

Mrs. Ellicott was either a bona fide nutcase or just a miserable person.

“I just don’t like her,” you grumble. “She’s mean to _everybody.”_

D.B. frowns at you, looking like he’s thinking.

“she’s not the lady who threw a rock at toby, is she?”

Toby, of course, being the little white dog that D.B. _swears_ isn’t his, but that somehow tends to simply appear sometimes in his vicinity.

(His brother’s vicinity even _more_ often, to _much_ less enthusiasm, but that was neither here nor there.)

“Yeah, that was Mrs. Ellicott.” 

D.B.’s frown deepens, and you feel vindicated.

“She’s just a jerk,” you say, “she’s alwa—a-Aah!”

Your stomach swoops, the world around you wobbling, and a deep field of green entering your vision.

It takes you a minute to realize what’s happened.

You appear to be, quite suddenly, sat upon a certain skeleton’s shoulders. Held up so high, right besides the fence, you’re now eye-level with your neighbor’s tree…

…and also very, very confused.

“What the hell?!” you manage to squawk out.

When you look down, D.B.’s just grinning at you, a mischievous glint in his yellow eye-lights.

“quick,” he says, “take one!”

‘Take one’?

Take one _what?!_

You open your mouth to ask the question when your brain registers the tree in front of you, well within reach—a _peach_ tree.

Mrs. Ellicott’s _prized_ peach tree.

With juicy, perfectly ripe fruit that she only ever used _half_ of for herself and left the rest to fall off and rot, forbidding _anybody_ to ‘invade’ her yard to clean them up until the spring thaw.

………

Before you can think any better of it, your hand lashes out with the speed of a viper, plucking a peach right off the tree.

The thrill of mischief sings in your blood, making you giggle a little as you swipe a couple more, quick as you can.

By the time you and D.B. scurry back inside with your ill-gotten gains, you’re positively breathless with laughter.

“That was so stupid…!” you snicker.

“she won’t even notice they’re gone,” D.B. says.

Of course she won’t—you only _got_ three peaches.

“What am I even gonna _do_ with these?!”

“anything you want! you could make a cobbler, or a cake…maybe a preserve.”

“Can you even _make_ preserves with _three_ fruits?”

D.B. shrugs.

“i dunno, maybe??? …but it’d be _just desserts_ if you did.”

You bury your face in your hands and _laugh_ , unable to believe that you’d just let this idiot convince you to commit petty theft on a whim.

Still…

The miniature peach cobbler you manage to throw together ends up being the _sweetest_ you’ve ever tasted.

So you don’t know if you regret it _that_ much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crime is bad, don't do crime...unless, like, it doesn't hurt anyone and nobody catches you and it's fun, that's different.
> 
> ~~The first half of the tiny cobbler was delicious. So was the second half, probably, but you'll never know-- a certain familiar dog ate it when you turned around.~~
> 
> [Gastertale AU concept](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/post/630806353725833216/have-you-ever-thought-about-a-world-where)


	25. Stick Together (HS!Sans/Reader)

Another roadblock.

It’s one thing after another, roadblock after caveat after brick wall, the wings of every single ‘if’ soundly clipped by a ‘but’ before it can even get off the _ground._

A dramatic metaphor, maybe.

But Sans had _always_ been a little metaphor-prone when he was miserable, as rare as those occasions had been.

Not so, now—right, specifically, now, bent over his pointless, _hopeless_ research in the middle of the night.

He was _never_ going to figure this out.

Determination…it was too complex, too unpredictable, there was _no hope_ of understanding it, _ever._

Undyne had known that.

She’d been smart enough to avoid it, scrapping every experiment that would require it without a second thought, and she had been _right_ to.

Look where DT got _him:_ trapped in a body that wouldn’t obey him, a slave to his own emotions, forced to bury everything; to bury _himself_ , just to _function_ …

And there was no way out.

There was never _going_ to be a way out, he couldn’t _fix_ this horrible thing he’d done to himself and he _never_ would, _this_ was _forever_ and—

“Sans…?”

Sans’ eye-sockets shoot open.

The sound of your voice from behind him demands an answer…but he doesn’t dare turn his head to give it.

He can see the white droplets splattered on his desk, soaking into his papers. 

He knows that any sudden moves would be…inadvisable.

“YES, DARLING?” he calls back, slowly lowering his hands from where they’d been clutching his skull.

“Are you okay?”

There’s a touch of sleepiness in your tone, but it’s fading quickly.

He woke you, somehow, with his stupid little breakdown, and the guilt of that isn’t making it any easier to keep a hold on his physical form.

“FINE,” Sans says, even as he tries to take deep, slow breaths, to find his center, to _get it together, already…_

Of course, you’re far too smart to buy that.

The bed sheets rustle as you slide out from under them, your feet padding softly along the floor until you’re standing at his side.

You don’t seem surprised when the calloused palm you lay atop his head sinks in a little, meeting slime instead of smooth.

“Oh, Sans…”

Sans says nothing, still just trying to breathe.

Your hand strokes over his skull, diligently smoothing out the little furrows his own phalanges had dug into the malleable bone.

You must find it ~~him~~ disgusting—dripping ooze isn’t often a preferred texture, for anyone—but you keep up your work without protest.

Your hand is warm, your motions methodical, your…your very _presence_ soothing.

It helps.

It helps a _lot._

“It’s okay,” you say eventually, “to not be okay.”

“…I KNOW.”

Feeling a little calmer, a little more solid, Sans finally turns to look at you.

There’s no judgment in your face for his…little moment of weakness.

No fear or disgust, either, which is stranger, but he’s glad for it nonetheless.

It helps him keep an even keel when he quietly admits, “I…WORRY. THAT I WON’T BE ABLE TO FIX THIS. ME. THAT I’M…THAT I’M GOING TO BE LIKE THIS FOREVER.”

You look at him, just barely holding it together now; at his research, flecked with literal bits of himself.

“That’s…that’s way over my head,” you admit. “I don’t… I mean, maybe you will. I…I don’t know. I can’t say.”

Sans grimaces, his nonexistent stomach dropping at the echo of his own doomed thoughts.

“But.”

“…BUT WHAT?”

“But…I know that…if there _is_ a way… if this…thing…can get better…” You smile at him. “I know that you’ll be the one to figure it out.”

You mean it.

It’s encouragement, but there’s no lie or exaggeration in your face; your voice.

Genuinely, earnestly…

You believe in him.

“And if there isn’t a way… Well, ha, I signed _up_ to date a sometimes-slimy skeleton,” you remind him. “I’ll be here whether you’re slimy or not!”

“HEH…HEHEHEH…I SUPPOSE YOU WILL BE.”

You reach for his hand, and make no mention at all of the fact that his bones are still just a little bit sticky.

“Either way, I don’t think you’re going to get _anything_ figured out tonight. C’mon, come to bed with me.”

Back in control, Sans smiles, a tiny thing but genuine as he follows you to bed.

You’re wrong about one thing, though.

He _has_ figured something out tonight—and it’s that you’re ready and willing to catch him when he stumbles.

And that, more than anything, gives him hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He'll get it someday...and until then, at least he's not alone.
> 
> [Horrorswap AU concept](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/post/630823593005170688/this-ones-a-long-one-sorry-for-all-the)


	26. Memory Lane (SF!Papyrus/Reader)

Snow crunches beneath your feet as you walk.

Your steps are slow—you’ve already been scooped up over spike traps twice, gently nudged around hidden patches of ice countless times—and caution lingers.

But awe is beginning to set in, too.

The artificial light to be found here is dim, nothing at all like the sun or even the moon… The pristine white snow catches _all_ of it, though, making it _gleam_ in a way that almost made you forget that.

The dead, empty silence, broken only by your footsteps, lends an ethereal quality to everything you see.

Quaint little buildings, wood and brick, not yet lost to the sea of white all around; darkened windows, cold silence…

It was actually…a little eerie…

“hey……are you…you’re okay?”

You turn, smiling a little at the ~~nervous~~ concerned look Papyrus is giving you.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m fine,” you promise. “It’s just a little…creepy.”

“…well. it, uh…it _is_ a ghost town.”

True.

You look out across Snowdin, silent and snowy and long-abandoned.

Even for a ghost-town, the place _was_ still kind of pretty.

You decide to keep walking, and Papyrus follows.

“Is everybody really gone?”

“yeah,” says Papyrus. And then, “i mean…i _think_ so……there might be, y’know, a couple stragglers, somewhere… but they’d be the ones who just wanted to be left alone, i don’t…i don’t think anybody’ll bother us.”

To your understanding, most monsters had been _overjoyed_ to leave the Underground, to see the sun and the sky and be _free_ , and to you, that makes perfect sense.

Papyrus was one of those monsters.

Though you had no idea what he was like in the years before you’d met him, you’d have to be blind not to see how much he was growing, healing, _thriving_ up on the Surface now and you love that for him.

You love that you get to see it and get to be there with him, for everything.

…So while it had confused you, that he wanted to come back here, you hadn’t hesitated to accept the invitation.

“What was it like?” you wonder, walking through the center of town. “When people _were_ here?”

“……warmer,” Papyrus decides at length. His gaze lingers on a brick building’s neon sign, turned off but still legible—Muffet’s, the first one, you’d guess. “more…more alive. had to…you had to watch your back, still, anywhere, but it was… it was okay here. there was…community? i dunno, maybe…maybe that’s not the right word, but it, it was…like that, kinda. if that makes sense???”

Not entirely…but you don’t see the point in pressing him to explain.

You make a noncommittal noise instead and keep moving forward, letting him point out the important landmarks: Muffet’s, his old house, the Bun hostel…

…And then, on the outskirts of town you come upon a deep, vast _chasm_ in the middle of your path.

“I’m…not crossing that thing,” you warn Papyrus, warily eyeing the rickety looking rope-bridge stretching across the gap.

To your surprise, your skeleton laughs.

“don’t worry, it’s sturdy. it’s a stone bridge, actually, i just…i was bored, one day, and uh, nyeheheh, i…i happened to have some paint, and…”

You look closer…and upon seeing it’s true, you start to laugh a little, too.

It’s simply too _Papyrus_ of a thing not to.

“we don’t have to cross it,” your partner says when you both manage to calm your giggles. “we could, but like…there’s not much over that way, it’s…it’s kind of a dead-end. this is where i wanted to go.”

Papyrus takes your hand, leading you over to the edge of the chasm and sitting as close as you dare. He says nothing, but looking below…it’s not hard to see what he meant.

The view from this spot is _incredible._

From miles above, you can see everything in the little valley far, far below you, a clearing in the middle of a dense thicket of trees. It’s dark and empty but as you watch, a strange breeze will pick up now and then, swirling the snow and shaking the pine needles and making the whole place seem…alive.

It’s beautiful.

Haunting, but _beautiful._

You sit there with Papyrus for you don’t know how long, barely even feeling the cold of the snow.

“it was….”

He trails off, but you let his words fade into silence, knowing he’ll figure out how to say what he means if you give him time.

“it wasn’t good, always. it was…it was bad, a lot… _real_ bad………but. there were…good things. pretty things. it was… despite… _everything,_ it… this was my home.”

And he brought _you_ here to see it.

You squeeze his claws in your hand, and when Papyrus looks at you, you lean in to kiss him.

“Thank you,” you say, “for showing me. …For surviving it.”

Papyrus…blinks.

Sighs, a shuddery thing.

And he squeezes your hand back.

You sit together and watch the trees dance in the valley below for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Underground was a prison, but it could be a scenic one at times.


	27. Icarus Syndrome (HSF!Sans/Reader)

“Don’t.”

Sans pauses in the motion of leaning his cane against your bedside table, curiously tilting his head at you.

“DON’T WHAT?” he wonders innocently.

“Do _not,”_ you warn him, “under _any_ circumstance, say the words ‘I told you so’ if you want me to _ever_ speak to you again.”

Sans laughs, resuming his journey to come join you on the bed.

“FINE,” he agrees. “I WON’T SAY IT. …BUT I DID.”

You huff, thoroughly annoyed.

Because yes, he absolutely _did_ tell you so—an explicit caution, to your face, with no way to misunderstand or ignore it—and you even remember his exact words.

_‘DON’T STAY OUT WITH US TOO LONG, DEAR, I HEAR THAT HUMAN SKIN CAN BURN.’_

Yes, you had heard this, in your many years living as a human, you were well aware and well _prepared_ and a day of swimming in your favorite skeletons’ pool was nothing you couldn’t handle.

………

Except.

Well.

Maybe it wasn’t, if your tight, hot, _stinging_ skin now was any indication.

Damned skeleton monsters and their ability to simply bleach in sunlight, while _you_ had burned.

“This doesn’t usually _happen,”_ you grumble, throwing your head back against your pillow. “It’s an outlier. Unlikely outcome. You weren’t actually right.”

“I THINK YOU’LL FIND THAT I WAS,” Sans retorts. “IF IT’S UNLIKELY, THAT JUST MAKES IT _MORE_ IMPRESSIVE THAT I PREDICTED THE OUTCOME.”

He sounds so terribly _smug_ as he says it.

If you weren’t stuck on your back in your underwear, trying not to move and agitate your wicked sunburn, you think you might try to hit him with a pillow.

Sans chuckles, like he can _feel_ your ill intent and it amuses him.

…Getting a pillow might be worth the pain, actually.

“NOW, NOW, DON’T GET UPSET, KITTEN,” he purrs at you, laying his claws ever so gingerly against your shoulder. “YOU’RE GOING TO LOVE ME AGAIN IN THIRTY SECONDS OR LESS.”

“And how’s that?”

Sans smiles, a broad, cheeky grin beneath the dark hole in his face.

“I STOPPED BY THE PHARMACY TODAY.”

So saying, he raises a bottle for you to see: large, with a flip-top cap and a fresh, soothing green tint that makes the label pop.

_Aloe vera gel._

“……Okay. I _might_ love you for that. …A little.”

“HEHEHEH, I HAD A FEELING YOU MIGHT.”

Sans sets the bottle down on the bed, reaching to pull off his gloves.

“MAY I?” he asks.

You consider trying to apply it to yourself.

You think of having to sit up.

You think of having to _twist._

……

“You may,” you graciously allow.

Sans peels his gloves off and squirts a generous amount of gel on his metacarpals, rubbing to thoroughly coat his phalanges too.

He reaches for your face first, where you got it the worst.

“I might peel,” you blurt out.

Sans’ hands still just before they touch you.

“It…that happens sometimes, with bad burns, it…flakes off. Just to… Don’t be… _alarmed,_ if you feel that happening.”

“YOU SHED YOUR _SKIN,”_ Sans says incredulously. “…LIKE A LIZARD.”

You open your mouth, attempting to correct this conclusion (somehow), but then Sans’ aloe-slathered hands settle on your cheeks.

The relief is _instant,_ cool moisture on your dry and burning skin, and you can’t help but sigh instead of saying anything, your eyes falling shut on instinct alone.

“YOU ARE A FASCINATING CREATURE,” Sans murmurs, his blunted, healing claws stroking _carefully_ all over your face. “NOW, LET ME TAKE CARE OF YOU.”

And so, you do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even dark skin can burn--and even when it doesn't, there's plenty of other ways too much sun can be dangerous, so sunscreen always!


	28. The Quickest Way (HSF!Papyrus/Reader)

You’re pretty sure that your friend’s brother hates you.

You don’t know for sure.

It’s not like he’s ever _said_ as much.

But…

He’s also never really said _anything_ to you.

At all.

Ever.

You’re not sure how you’re _supposed_ to feel about that because Sans has always scoffed and waved off your concerns—every unacknowledged ‘hi,’ every cold look, every turn of the heel when he saw you were over—dismissed as ‘JUST PAPYRUS, DON’T MIND IT,’ but in your heart of hearts, you know what it _doesn’t_ make you feel.

‘Welcome.’

You suppose in the long run, it doesn’t really matter.

 _Sans_ is your friend, and if _he_ doesn’t mind that his brother doesn’t like you very much, then you shouldn’t let it weigh on you either.

~~And yet…~~

When you wake one morning in an unfamiliar bed, memory returns to you slowly.

An unintentionally late evening, making noises about getting a cab home, _“OH NONSENSE, WE HAVE PLANS TOMORROW ALREADY, YOU’RE BEST OFF HERE, LET ME SHOW YOU TO THE GUEST ROOM…”_

You glance at the clock and stretch leisurely, taking a nice deep breath.

…Something out there smells delicious.

You suppose breakfast is worth getting up for, and after a quick run-through of your morning routine, you head downstairs to see what’s what.

The warm, wonderful smells only intensify as you poke your head into the kitchen and set out on the table, you see a veritable _buffet’s_ worth of food: mugs of fresh coffee with sugar and creamer beside them, bacon and sausage, sliced fruit, a fluffy stack of pancakes and a bottle of syrup, everything but—

Oh no, there's the sound of eggshells cracking too, drawing your attention to the skeleton at the stove, dutifully scrambling them in his pan.

Surprise wakes you more soundly than coffee _ever_ could when it’s _not_ the skeleton you had expected to see.

Papyrus only briefly takes his eye-sockets off of his eggs to look at you, standing there in the doorway.

You offer him a ‘good morning,’ of course, though as usual, he says nothing in reply.

After a moment, you just…awkwardly shuffle in and take a seat at the table, to wait.

You can't help but breathe a silent sigh of relief when Sans, with his impeccable timing, swans in after only a minute or so of strained silence with ‘GOOD MORNING’s for you both.

He sits, and as soon as the eggs are poured out onto a serving plate and brought over to the table, so does Papyrus.

“THANK YOU, BROTHER,” Sans says, shoveling an amount of bacon onto his plate that would concern you if he had arteries. “IT ALL SMELLS DELICIOUS.”

“It _looks_ delicious, too,” you readily agree, adding some food to your own plate. “Thanks for doing all this, Papyrus, this is really nice.”

Even as you say it, you wonder if it was…presumptuous…to thank him like that; if Papyrus might take some kind of _offense_ to it, like you were implying he’d made any of this _for_ you.

For all you knew, this was an everyday occurrence and you just so _happened_ to be here for it today…

As if reading your thoughts, Sans speaks again.

“YES, THIS WAS A _VERY_ NICE SURPRISE. NOT USED TO HAVING BREAKFAST READY FIRST THING IN THE MORNING…AND SUCH A _WIDE_ SPREAD TOO. _ALMOST_ AS IF YOU WERE COOKING FOR SOMEONE AND DIDN’T _KNOW_ WHAT THEY LIKED…”

There’s an oddly certain tone in his voice, almost…almost teasing?

When you look at Papyrus, his gaze is cast pointedly down at his plate, a faint dusting a violet across his cheekbones.

Sans can’t see it, but he must know his brother well enough to just _know_ …or, he can hear the aggressive way Papyrus happens to be stabbing his pancakes.

Sans laughs.

“YOU’RE RIDICULOUS. YOU COULD’VE JUST _ASKED_ THEM, YOU KNOW!”

And then, for the first time in your presence, Papyrus speaks.

“shut up…”

The petulant little grumble that comes out of him is low, deep and raspy. You can’t tell if it’s because of how little he seems to talk or if that’s simply the quality of his voice, but it’s…

It’s a nice voice.

And this breakfast was a very nice thing.

………

So you speak up, too.

Chastising your friend, you say, “Don’t make fun of him, Sans, it was _very_ sweet to do all this.”

You look across the table, trying to make eye-contact.

“Thank you, Papyrus,” you add earnestly.

The color on his face darkens a little. For a moment, you even think you see a flicker of that color in the blackness of his eye-sockets, but it quickly fades.

Still…for the first time ever _to_ you, Papyrus speaks again.

“no problem.”

It's barely anything at all…but considering you had gone to bed last night all but _certain_ in the knowledge that he hated you…

It means a lot.

And you think that it's possible that…you and Papyrus may have just gotten off on the wrong foot.

When breakfast is over, you find yourself turning to Papyrus, a hopeful smile on your face.

“Hey, did you… Did you want to come out with Sans and I today? The more the merrier.”

Papyrus…hesitates.

He doesn’t meet your eyes again when he shakes his head in answer… but there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his face, too, as he starts to gather up the dishes.

“maybe…maybe next time…?” he wonders.

“Sure! Rain check.”

You look forward to taking him up on it sometime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus isn't the _best_ cook, but he's decent enough at the basics...and y'know, they say the quickest way to someone's heart is through their stomach.
> 
> ...especially if you're too skittish to say hi to your brother's cute new friend the first time you meet and then it just gets more and more awkward to say anything to them the longer it goes on and you don't have _nearly_ enough social skills to break the ice any other way.
> 
> [Horrorswapfell AU concept](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/post/630836607566643200/potential-tw-for-those-who-need-it-disability)


	29. Moose on the Loose (UG!Sans/Reader)

You’re running as fast as you can, frantically looking around and trying not to freak out just yet, when a strangled yelp makes you automatically whip around.

_There!_

You change direction and _sprint,_ catching up to your runaway so fast you feel like you just teleported.

You might even _believe_ that, if not for the strain in your leg muscles and the flood of adrenaline still pumping through you.

“Moose, you _ass!”_ you growl, snatching up your dog’s leash and pulling him back. “Leave the poor man alone, you are in _so_ much trouble!”

Moose is utterly unaffected by your angry tone.

He simply looks up at you with a happy dog-smile, his beautiful brown eyes so clear that you swore you could see the elevator music playing in his head behind them.

You’d have better luck trying to make a _rock_ feel guilty.

Still, Moose secured, you now have a moment to turn to the guy your dumb dog seems to have startled awake with a cold, wet nose to the face.

“I am _so_ sorry for him,” you say, still a little out of breath. “I swear he’s a good boy usually, I don’t know why he picked _today_ to make a break for it…”

The guy, a skeleton with wide eye-sockets and one of the thickest, coziest-looking sweaters you’ve ever seen barely looks at you.

“it, uh…s’no problem,” he mumbles, keeping his sockets fixed firmly on Moose. “it happens. dogs and bones, y’know?”

You laugh a little, but notice the skeleton doesn’t do the same.

He actually looks…a little nervous, if you had to guess…

And the next thing he says gives you a clue as to why.

“it…he doesn’t… moose doesn’t…bite, does he???”

You feel silly for not realizing in retrospect.

Your dog was the sweetest, gentlest idiot you’ve ever known, but not everybody knew that, and he was _far_ from a tiny creature. Some of the more skittish people you’ve encountered on walks would even cross the _street_ when they saw him coming.

And _they_ weren’t solely made up of the thing that dogs stereotypically _ate._

“Moose doesn’t bite,” you assure the skeleton. “He doesn’t even chew his _kibble.”_

You gently bop your dog on the nose, and by the wagging of his tail, you presume he has interpreted it as a strange new kind of petting.

“Besides, he’s a lab, he’s got that soft-mouth thing. Gave him an egg once and he held it for fifteen minutes before I could get him to put it down.”

The skeleton seems visibly relieved to hear this.

He looks up at you and for the first time, you see the soft gray lights he has in his eye-sockets.

They strike you as… surprisingly pretty.

“well,” he says, “that’s _egg_ cellent news for me, then.”

The pun startles a laugh out of you and the skeleton’s tired-looking smile widens a bit.

He introduces himself to you and you do the same, explaining when asked just how your (not so) little escape artist managed to wrangle himself away from you.

Sans listens intently to the whole story and chuckles at the end, reaching out to pat your dog on his big, empty head.

“and then he tried to shove his nose in my eye-socket. not too a _moose_ ing of you, pal.”

Moose has no appreciation of punnery, but you do.

“Yeah… Sorry again if he _rattled_ you.”

“heheheheh…! good one.”

“So,” you say after a moment, finding yourself reluctant to resume your walk _just_ yet, “do you…normally take naps outside, on the ground, or…?”

Sans looks only the slightest bit sheepish as he admits, “yeah, sometimes… not really on purpose always… but it was this time. i was on break.”

“On break from what?”

Sans reaches over to a long black case on the ground beside him, drumming his phalanges on the hard surface.

You hadn’t noticed it before now because of course, Moose had parked his butt directly on top of it.

You give his hindquarters a little shove, telling him, “Move it, mister, scoot,” and he goes, allowing Sans to pull it in front of him and open it up.

The shiny brass trombone he plucks out is a bit of a surprise, as is the practiced, professional way he seems to hold it.

“fun and profit,” he tells you, gesturing to a small pile of donated bills in the open case. He shoots you a wink, adding, “i take requests, if you got any…”

You think about it, mulling over your options.

“…Can you do WAP?”

Sans raises his browbones, like he’s intrigued.

“an interesting proposition… i can sure take a _crack_ at it.”

You rustle around in your pockets for some spare cash and laugh out loud as the first notes of the hook start to blare from Sans’ instrument.

Moose, oblivious to everything and anything, continues to sit there and wag his tail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans isn't scared of _dogs,_ per se, as much as he's just a little nervous around creatures that could bite or otherwise injure him unexpectedly. He's got a real low base HP and even then, he's almost always just a little bit under it, he doesn't need anything to drop him even lower!
> 
> Lucky for him, Moose is big, but has about as much aggressive intent in him as he has thoughts...which is to say, none. I pictured Moose as a chocolate lab, if you'd like to picture him too! XD
> 
> [Undergloom AU concept](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/post/190182009823/undergloom-au-concept)


	30. Jumpscare (HF!Sans/Reader)

You know that you’re pacing a bit, but you can’t really help yourself.

It’s late, absurdly late, and over the past however many minutes, your anxiety has started to work itself up into a proper froth.

He’s out there.

You know it.

But you don’t know _where._

For the sixth time at least, you pull the blinds aside just enough to peek out into the darkness.

The whole block is empty, dim street lamps barely making a dent in the sea of shadows and blackened windows. No matter how you angle your head, you can’t see anything—any _one…_

But he’s out there.

He has to be.

_Somewhere._

The last thing to run through your mind is a desperate, _Fuck it,_ before you’re cracking open your front door and stepping out onto the porch.

The night is chilly and you shiver instinctively, rubbing at your arms even as you start to look around with your widened field of vision.

Scanning the darkness feels pointless, futile, but you do anyway, needing to at least _try_ to see if you can see him.

Everything is still and silent, _creepily_ so, and not even the halo of the porch light around you can ward off the feeling.

And then, turning your head, you freeze.

There.

In the distance…

_Is that…?_

It’s only a speck.

A tiny little…dot…of light, so faint, you can’t even be sure that you’re _actually_ seeing it.

Just the barest pinprick of _red_ in an ocean of black.

You squint at it, tilting your head…

And the hair on the back of your neck stands on end.

That's the only warning you have before, between one blink and the next, the dot is much, _much_ closer.

You gasp, taking an automatic step back as you’re quite suddenly _not_ alone on the porch, a new massive figure standing right in front of you.

A huge skull, flashes of gold and burning red—the red dot, you realize, the light nearly filling one _whole_ eye-socket, shaking erratically and looking…

Right.

At.

_You._

Pinned under that stare, rooted to the floor, you open your mouth with no _idea_ what you’re going to say.

You don't get the chance to find out.

Before you can say a single word, he’s _on_ you.

………

“Oof,” you wheeze, caught up against Sans and _held_ there with a truly iron grip. “Hey baby, hey… I was getting worried about you.”

You reach around his ribs as best you can, patting and stroking. You don't expect an answer to your statement, not with Sans' hands locked so tightly onto you, but to your dismay…

“s—o _o_ - _rr_ -yyy,” he croaks over your head.

You can’t guess for what.

For having a rough night? For needing to come see you? For not having your place solid enough in his head yet to just pop straight over in that special way he could?

You don’t care about that.

You answered his texts. You brainstormed the closest place he could remember and gave him directions.

You left the porch light on for him.

“Shut up,” you tell him. Your tone is sharp enough that his hold on you loosens, and you manage to wriggle free. “Just…come inside, Sans, it’s cold out.”

And your stupid skeleton is wearing nothing but his shorts and an old threadbare sweater.

(Sans hasn’t told you yet, what he sees in his nightmares, but by the blown state of his eye-light, the urgency to come _straight_ to you, you know it must be bad.)

(You don't intend to ask the details tonight.)

Sans comes inside.

You’re especially gentle with him as you pull him to your pantry and let him rummage around for his favorite snacks.

You sit him down on your couch and lean against his side while you watch a few mindless, late-night cartoons and ‘share’ a family-size box of crackers.

And when he’s finally relaxed enough to start nodding off right there, you take him by the hand and bring him with you to your bed, to get some _real_ rest.

Your mattress creaks almost comically beneath his weight when he sits down, but you climb up into his lap anyway, your mission clear.

Sans stays perfectly still for the kiss you reach up to press to his temple, just below the jagged hole in his skull.

He shifts a little under the one you lay on the side of his face, right over the pins that hold his jaw together.

The last kiss you have to work for a bit, tugging down the collar of his turtleneck to get at the spider web of deep, glowing cracks in his vertebrae. The magic seeping from the fractured bone is warm and makes your lips tingle strangely…

But the deep, rattling _sigh_ your kiss draws out of him makes it well-worth it.

Sans _relaxes,_ lying back and pulling you on top of him.

His eye-light, steady now and normal-sized, holds your gaze as he touches his phalanges his chin, gesturing out.

_“thank you.”_

“My pleasure,” you say, meaning it completely.

Sans is somebody you’ll _always_ leave the porch light on for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's almost Spooky Day, I had to squeeze in a _little_ bit of creepiness...even if I ended up subverting it in short order. XD
> 
> [Horrorfell AU concept](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/post/190481512178/alright-this-one-definitely-goes-under-a-cut-xd)


	31. Go Together Like... (HT!Papyrus/Reader)

The music is loud, the room is bumping, and everyone is laughing and chatting and having a fantastic time.

…And you feel _very_ out of your element.

You’d like nothing better than to grab up your stuff and slip quietly out of the nightclub, unnoticed, but unfortunately for you, you had made a promise and you know you’ll catch no end of hell if you break it and try to leave early.

You are, regrettably…

Stuck.

You sigh to yourself, leaning up against the bar.

For lack of anything better to do, you’d thought to order yourself a drink—just a cola, or maybe a mocktail to sidestep the whole ‘aw come on, live a little’ from your friends—but of course it was busy and there seemed to be only one guy back there this evening, pouring drinks for everybody. 

You’ve yet to be noticed by the bartender.

If you were in a rush, you might be mad, but as it is, having to wait is just one more tiny frustration on top of everything else.

You just want to go home.

But instead, you wait to order a drink.

The bartender is as far from you now as he could possibly be, on the opposite end of the bar, serving…

Oh.

A skeleton.

Well, that’s unusual. 

For that alone, your eyes linger a moment on the large monster hunched down over the counter, trying to take up as little room as possible.

The bartender sets down a glass, pouring something into it, and…

………

Huh.

Before you can even think to wonder what it is you seem to be doing, you get up, squeezing past strangers and partiers and making your way over to the skeleton.

Sidling up next to him as casually as possible, you see that your eyes did not deceive you.

“I didn’t know they served milk here,” you blurt out thoughtlessly.

The skeleton turns to face you.

There are glasses on his face, magnifying his eye-sockets, and braces on his teeth that gleam a little when he smiles.

“I’m Just As Surprised As You Are,” he admits cheerfully. “I Always Ask Anyway, But Most Places Like This Say They Don’t Have Milk! That’s Silly, Isn’t It?”

Now that you think about it…

“Yeah… Yeah, that is kinda weird, isn’t it? It’s not like it’s a crazy specialty beverage or something…”

The skeleton nods in eager agreement.

“Exactly! It’s Perfectly Common! And It Has Vitamins And Protein And Calcium—It’s Full Of Strong Bones!”

…That last bit, you’re not so sure about.

“But People Give You Such _Looks_ When You Don’t Order Alcohol At A Bar. I Find That So _Strange,_ Don’t You?”

“Yeah! What business of theirs is it? If you want milk, you should be able to have milk!”

“Yes, Thank You! It’s A Pleasure To Make The Acquaintance Of A Like-Minded Individual.”

You hop up onto the stool beside the skeleton and get comfortable.

The skeleton, you discover as introductions are made, is named Papyrus, and Papyrus is in much the same boat as you are this evening.

“I’m Happy For Sandra,” he assures you, his long phalanges curling around his (proportionally) tiny glass and gesturing to a reveling group across the club. “She’s Been Working On Her Midwifery Certification For Ages, Of Course She Deserves A Night Out To Celebrate. But This Particular Venue Is Just… Mmn…”

He trails off, in search of a polite description.

“Not really your scene?” you guess.

He snaps the fingers of his free hand in agreement, and you laugh.

“Yeah, it’s not really mine, either. We,” you wave to where your own group is gathered, “are doing the whole pre-wedding thing for my friend and it’s…Well.”

You think Papyrus can see for himself how wild it’s gotten over there.

“I Suppose You Also Couldn’t Excuse Yourself Preemptively Because ‘You Never Come Out With Us’…”

“Pretty much,” you admit. “I’ve also been forbidden from leaving early.”

“And When Is ‘Early’?”

“Midnight, I’ve been told.”

Papyrus grimaces in sympathy.

“Stars,” he laments, “I’m Already Tired For You! Is There Anything I Can Do To Help?”

“You’re kind of doing it already.” Your face heats a bit to say it out loud, but, “A little sober conversation with a…a ‘like-minded individual’ is pretty nice… Wasn’t expecting _that_ tonight.”

“……Oh! Well, That’s…I’m, I’m Glad!”

You’re not sure if it’s your imagination or the weird lighting in this place, but Papyrus’ skull suddenly looks a little…blue.

“Can I… Buy You A Drink?”

You blink, surprised.

“Milk,” he quickly specifies, “O-Or A Soda, Maybe, Whatever You Want! I’d Just…Feel Better If I Could Actually Do Something For You, And…Not Just The Happy Accident Of My Presence, Nyeh-Heh-Heh…”

Papyrus seems very sweet.

And sweet and milk…is reminding you of something you had forgotten.

“Alright,” you agree, “I’ll take a milk—but you have to do something else for me, too.”

Looking puzzled, Papyrus asks, “What’s That?”

You hop off your stool.

“You have to _promise_ not to laugh at me when I come back.”

Solemn duty crosses over Papyrus’ face.

“I Swear To You On My Honor As A Skeleton, I Will Not Laugh.”

Good.

You wander off back to your group—where you left your bag—and as quick as you can, you’re back to the bar and to Papyrus, guarding over now two glasses of milk.

Between them, on the counter, you place a humble little two-pack of oreos.

~~Your emergency snack, _never_ so perfect than at this very moment.~~

A strangled noise escapes Papyrus at the sight of it, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“You swore you wouldn’t laugh.”

“I’m Not!” he squeaks. “I’m Just…Appreciating The Fortuitousness Of Our Meeting Here Tonight!”

At a nightclub of all places—he, with milk, and you, with cookies.

You suppose that _is_ pretty fortuitous.

“Well, in that case, I guess you can still have one.”

Who are you to argue with fate?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When these two get together, they have the most adorable 'how did you meet?' story in the room every time--and suddenly, all the times Reader has called Papyrus 'the milk to my oreos' make perfect sense.
> 
> Happy Halloween! Daily updates of this are probably going to stop now, but I'm not done with it--that 100 chapter total is real, so there'll be more to come for sure!


	32. (Not) Too Late (HF!Papyrus/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: injured animal, non-explicit blood and suffering, fear of death, animal survives

You don’t know how long you stand there frozen, staring down the most horrific thing you’ve ever seen.

It looks…broken…all angles and bumps, twisting in movements so unnatural that your stomach involuntarily turns.

It’s dirty, bloody, and there’s the unmistakable imprint of a _tire_ on it, and you can’t see how it could still be moving; still making _noise._

It doesn’t look like one, but it _sounds_ like a cat.

You can’t tell if you’d rather throw up or cry.

“DO YOU WANT ME TO KILL IT?”

The words snap you out of your stupor and your head whips around, incredulous.

“What?!”

Papyrus, impassive, just looks down at you.

“IT’S SUFFERING,” he points out. “THAT WOULD END IT.”

He’s not wrong.

But you can’t…

That’s not…

“No!”

You don’t _want_ that to be the solution.

You run for the injured animal, still feebly dragging itself across the pavement. It looks even worse up close and you _definitely_ want to cry now, trying to figure out how to touch it without scaring it, or hurting it. You barely brush your fingers against its filthy matted fur and it yowls and flails and falls over.

Papyrus kneels down beside you, batting your shaking hands away.

“No,” you blurt out again as he reaches for the animal…but his claws move slowly, gently curling around with no clear intent to harm.

The cat wiggles in his grip, but he picks it up nonetheless, supporting its head and body carefully in his big hands.

“WE’LL TAKE IT INSIDE,” he tells you. “WE CAN FIGURE IT OUT FROM THERE.”

“…Right.”

Shakily, you get to your feet and head back to the house with Papyrus, trying to think of an action plan.

The distressed warbling sounds coming from the cat the whole way there don’t make it easy.

As soon as you get to your phone, you’re frantically googling vet clinics and animal hospitals and emergency pet care, pacing just to keep moving and probably looking like a chicken with its head cut off.

By the time you’re certain you’ve exhausted all the options, you return to the living room.

In your absence, it seems Papyrus has found a box to put the cat in, lined with a plush knit blanket—Sans’ contribution, you’d guess, judging by the other skeleton’s presence in the room.

Papyrus looks calm, unaffected as always, but your partner’s _brother_ looks concerned, and the silent sign bouncing back and forth between the two of them is too fast for you to follow right now.

You announce your presence with the bad news.

“There’s nothing twenty-four-hour around here… The closest I could find doesn’t open until nine.”

Sans’ hands are still, but his face speaks volumes—hesitance, uncertainty, pity—and you can guess what the conversation was about.

Papyrus, however, comes over to you, taking your hands in his.

“THAT’S FINE,” he tells you coolly. “WE’LL TAKE IT THERE IN THE MORNING IF IT STILL NEEDS ATTENTION.”

There’s flecks of blood on Papyrus’ hands and looking at them, you know all too well what he’s talking around.

If it’s still _alive_ in the morning.

But you can’t confront that thought now and both of you know it.

The night that follows is a long one, probably the longest of your life.

Sans makes himself scarce while you and Papyrus set up in the living room to stay with the box, doing what you can to tend to the wounded thing inside it.

He shoos you off to bed sometime around sunrise, swearing to keep watch and to wake you when it’s time to go.

You get maybe two hours and don’t feel either of them, but the cat is still breathing when Papyrus bundles you and it into the car, off to its only hope of survival.

The people at the veterinary clinic don’t ask too many questions when they see the state of the animal you’ve brought them—just if you plan on funding and housing its recovery.

To your surprise, Papyrus doesn’t hesitate to answer, “YES.”

When you’re left alone in the waiting room, he raises a brow at the look you’re giving him, inviting you to speak.

“Since when…” You pause, trying to figure out a way to say it without sounding like you were accusing him of something unkind. “You didn’t seem………I didn’t…think you’d be…okay with taking it.”

Papyrus doesn’t offer much in the way of explanation.

“SHE’S STRONG,” he says. “SHE MADE IT THIS FAR. IF SHE MAKES IT THROUGH THIS TOO, SHE HAS A HOME.”

And to that, you have nothing to say.

She does make it.

The cat that eventually comes back out to you—shaved, stitched, donning the cone of shame—is unrecognizable from the broken thing Papyrus carried in.

Without all the muck and blood in the way, her fur is white, and though her pupils are enormous from anesthetic, her eyes are lovely, as blue as the Caribbean Sea.

She leaves the vet with you as she arrived to it, in Papyrus’ arms, and her recovery begins.

She gains weight quickly, though her fur grows back slowly, and she hardly seems to notice the loss of the single back paw that had been too damaged for the vets to save.

She _adores_ Papyrus and though he says nothing in particular about it, the fact that he allows her to follow him everywhere, shed white fur on _all_ his black clothing, and dart in between his legs while he’s walking without a _single_ word of complaint is quite telling.

She’s picked her person and biased you may be, but you think she chose well.

A few months out from that horrible, anxious night, you find yourself watching Papyrus, his claws idly raking lines in the little white tuft perched on his lap.

Said tuft is likewise quite occupied making biscuits on him with her tiny, soft kitty feet.

“WHAT?” Papyrus demands when he catches you staring.

“Nothing,” you say, but you can’t get rid of the smile on your face.

She may have come to you a little late…but somehow, you think Doomfanger is the _perfect_ addition to your family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Reader went to bed, Papyrus looked down into the box and decided, "IF YOU LIVE THROUGH THE NIGHT, I WILL ALLOW MYSELF TO LOVE YOU," and little soon-to-be Doomy looked up at him and decided, "Bet."
> 
> Sans eventually makes her a tiny fake foot as a 'sorry i thought you were a goner' present (they don't make greeting cards for that, y'know) that she neither likes nor needs, but sometimes Papyrus will put it on her anyway so that they match.
> 
> [Horrorfell AU concept](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/post/190481512178/alright-this-one-definitely-goes-under-a-cut-xd)


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